


Exile

by magnumopustron



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Blackmail, Bucky Barnes Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Forced Crossdressing, HYDRA Trash Party, Horrible People Being Horrible, Humiliation, M/M, Misgendering, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sexual Assault, Steve Rogers Feels, Victim Blaming, sexual assault aftermath
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2018-06-01 12:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6519235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnumopustron/pseuds/magnumopustron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has a secret. He means to tell Steve about it, he really does. He's just not ready.<br/>Unfortunately Hydra knows that secret too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All my regrets

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic about sexual assault and it's aftermath. (Like I never write about rape - nope! One of these days I am going to write some nice fluffy Science Husbands or something, until then..!)  
> This was written for a prompt meme in the Hydra Trash Party. There is already a pretty good unfinished fic there which I drew inspiration from in terms of use of recordings and cameras. Link here: https://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/587.html?thread=133707 
> 
> Trigger warnings are labeled in tags. Please take these warnings seriously! I will also include warning and spoiler notes at the end of certain chapters.

“Hey, it's me,” he stares silently into the screen for a few moments, then chuckles and shakes his head.

“I know. You probably don't want to hear from me. I'm pretty tired of hearing about myself actually.

I wanted to say something though, before I go.” 

His eyes keep wandering away from looking directly into the camera.

“I um... I wasn't a good person. I'm still not. I wish I could say that I'm not the idiot I was seventy years ago, but it turns out I'm still pretty stupid,” he lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head, glancing away again. Then he looks up at the camera.

“I'm sorry. I know it doesn't... make any difference now. It's too late,” he nods, looking into the camera. “It is. I accept that now. Truth is, I remembered... what happened about two months ago. What I did back then. What I was planning.

And I couldn't understand how I could fucking do it. I was... angry. I was jealous. I remember how I felt. But it still doesn't make any fucking sense.

And I wished that it wasn't... that I hadn't. I can't say that I wanted to tell you, I didn't. I kept pretending I was going to and then I'd just forget.

I wanted to just pretend that everything could be good again. That I was really that guy in the history books, you know,” he smiles sadly and shakes his head. “But I'm not. I can't be.

So I'm sorry. Your friend isn't who you thought he was. I'm not who you thought I was. You invested a lot of time and... I want to thank you because you gave me...

“You gave me a chance to be a person again,” he nods. “You're a good man.” Then he smiles wryly. “Anyway, I'll cut this short.”

He looks off thoughtfully, then sighs and closes his eyes. He shakes his head, then opens them and looks at the camera again.

“... I love you.” Then he scoffs. “I know. You used to say you were the definition of 'too late.' But hey, I think I beat you this time.” He shakes his head again. “What a mess, right?” His eyes wander downward.

After a few moments, he looks up again.

“That's it,” he shrugs. “I know... you're angry. You have every right to be. I'm just sorry. I don't think I'll ever stop bein' sorry.

I'm going to disappear. I have some things I need to take care of. But you don't need to worry,” he shakes his head.

“I'd tell you to take care of yourself, but I know you won't,” he huffs. “So I'm going to ask our friend to keep an eye on you. God knows you'll need it.” He looks down at the floor again.

““If you believe nothing else I've ever said, believe me when I say I don't regret following you,” he shakes his head. “I can't.”

Goodbye, Steve.”

The video ends.

 

* * *

 

**Two Months Earlier**

 

Robyn is playing on the phone in the bathroom as he showers.

“I'm in the corner, watching you kiss her, ohh,” he sings softly in his voice rough with disuse as he scrubs his hair. “I'm right over here... why can't you see me?”

It took about four months into recovery for him to really take any interest in music. It's been almost a year since he's been living with Steve. He's up to dancing now – only in private, of course, and never in front of Natasha when she visits.

He still likes to call her Natalia just to get on her nerves. It's fun.

It's a beautiful, sunny day outside. He can see the morning sun shining through the window. Late morning sun, that is. Bucky has a habit of sleeping in. But can anybody really fault him?

Sometimes he faults himself. Weapons don't sleep in and luxuriate.

He closes his eyes and tries to push the thoughts out. Bucky tunes in to Robyn's voice.

“I'm giving it my all, but I'm not the one you're looking for-”

He begins to rinse out his hair, eyes closed, head tilted back toward the spray of water.

It's smoky in the bar. The Howling Commandos are at the table behind them. There's laughter in the air, the smell of cigarettes and booze. Bucky is actually feeling comfortable for once... almost.

Steve's at his side, asking if he's ready to follow Captain America. He says fuck no, he'll follow that little guy from Brooklyn though.

Even if he keeps hearing Zola's voice, feeling the man's creepy little hands on his skin.

Then she comes in with her red dress and her red lips - heaven sent and sweet as sin - and his cock starts to fill at the sight of her. He's an animal - he knows it - but hey, he hasn't really gotten a look at such a gorgeous dame in so long. He grins as he gets up from the stool. She's perfection. Big brown eyes like a doe and a body so stacked, Bucky thinks he could just wrap himself around her curves and never let go. He could forget all about Zola for a while.

He realizes with a frown that he recognizes her. She was the dame Steve was talking to.

_He's seen this memory before but there's something more to it all._

 

She's ignoring him and talking to Steve. He looks up at the way Steve gazes back at her. Then he's blushing and smiling to Bucky, almost... apologetically.

Bucky's blood is boiling in his ears. He makes a joke about it being a nightmare after she leaves. Steve pats him on the shoulder, chuckling.

But Bucky is serious. Everything feels so surreal. Steve rescued him, but there's something pulsing through Bucky's blood that feels alien and wrong, like parasites in his veins. Steve is ten feet tall and some gorgeous girl, no, _woman_ , has her eyes on him... and Steve's eyes are all for her.

Steve, his Steve, doesn't need him anymore.

 

Bucky frowns, opening his eyes in the shower, stepping out from under the spray and squeezing his hair out.

The phone has moved to the next song on the playlist. Bucky loves Robyn and Sam Wilson can just shut up 'cause Bucky doesn't care if it's _girly pop music about relationships._  

He smirks at the appropriateness of the next song.

“ _And it hurts with every heartbeat...”_

“No shit,” he mutters as he steps out, squeezing his hair out in the tub again, bending over. Then he grabs his towel and towels off.

“ _I keep going cause things will never change, so I don't look back. But I'm dying with every step I take-”_

He looks up at the lightbulbs above the bathroom mirror and suddenly he's back in a hallway, naked, sobbing as he's ushered along. He's almost hobbling from the physical pain, but that's nothing compared to what he's done. 

It's all suddenly caught up with him. 

They're in a room with tile all over the floor. He's dripping blood and whimpering, eyes lowered. His skin is hideously pale, almost gray, marked with blue, purple, and green bruises. He looks up to see a horribly familiar little man in a white coat.

“You know you deserve this, Sargeant Barnes,” the man says. It isn't Zola, but it might as well be. It's one of his 'assistants.'

They always said that to him, he thinks, as he comes back to himself in the bathroom. He takes a deep breath, putting his hands down on the counter slowly. He's trembling. He looks up at his reflection.

The only difference is that the pain in his chest, the conviction of the man's words, the weight of them, stays with Bucky after the memory's grip releases him.

Words are taking shape in his head. He remembers nodding in reply to the man, even as he sobbed, even as he wanted to beg for mercy. And even while he'd screamed, he'd relished it.

_Because he did deserve it. He did._

The words surface slowly, like sticks rising from retreating floods, mud clinging to them.

“They'll be approaching from the northwest,” he mouths, staring into the mirror and frowning.

He tries to remember the source of the words. He dries his hand off and pauses the music on his phone.

He mouths the words again, looking up in the mirror. And that's when it falls into place, with a sinking dread.

 

“No,” he says flatly as it comes rising up, a crashing wave.

 

“They'll be approaching from the northwest,” he tells the squid who scoffs. 

'Turncoat. You're a fucking traitor.'

Even the Nazi despises him.

“No,” he groans, feeling the floor, the fucking ground, the _Earth_ swaying underneath him. His legs are giving out and he grips the counter with his metal hand as he sinks to the floor. He shivers against the counter, then turns, curling up into a ball. “No... No.”

 

* * *

 

He's been sitting on the floor of the bathroom, tears trickling down his face, growing cold. Someone thumps on the bathroom door and he nearly jumps out of his skin. It's Steve.

“Hey, Buck! Everything all right?”

“Y-yeah!” he calls, as he scrambles up from the floor, scraping his lower back on the bottom edge of the cabinet. He winces and curses himself.

“You sure? That was a long shower.”

Steve left... how long ago was it now? An hour ago? He and Sam went to the grocery store. Bucky can hear Sam in the background, hear pans clanging and someone chopping something... water running. They're making... dinner. 

“Yeah,” he says after a moment, grabbing a towel and pulling it around his shivering form. “Just... you know me,” he let out a weak laugh. “Like to spend time in the bathroom...”

“Well that's fine,” Steve replies. Steve, with his warm, gentle laughter and his big, gentle hands. Bucky covers his lips with his flesh fingers which might as well be his metal ones for the fact that they're freezing. He quickly towels off and scrambles into the sweatpants and t shirt he has waiting on the toilet seat.

He combs his hair, then exits his bathroom, heading through his bedroom into the living room. He greets Sam when he spots the man. Smiles, just like everything is normal. Laughs, a strained laugh, at Sam's joke. Sam looks to him and Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“You sure you're okay?” Steve asks and Bucky looks to him, glances down to the bowl of salad in his hand. God he really is losing his shit, isn't he? When did Steve make that salad? Just now? He's been at the counter making it the whole time, of course.

Bucky shrugs.

“Just... memories,” he admits. Steve's eyes, god they're soft and kind. They're filled with concern. His own eyes narrow.

“Now don't you give me that,” he points at Steve. “Don't give me that sad look.” Sam chuckles. Bucky forces a smile and it feel almost manic. He excuses himself, saying it's cold and he's going to dry his hair.

He has to stop himself from running back to the bathroom where he stares into the mirror.

 

God, he knew the memories would be dark. He just didn't know he'd turn out to be a fucking monst-

He begins to laugh, emptily.

'Of course you would.'

“Buck?”

“Nothing!” he calls, then rolls his eyes at himself. “Just... don't worry about it, okay?”

“Okay...” Steve calls.

Bucky closes the door. For a few minutes, he stands there, staring at his reflection.

'What did you think, you pathetic bastard? That you'd turn out to be a fucking saint? That deep down you're just _misunderstood?_ '

He turns on the hair dryer. He glares at himself and yanks the comb through his hair, wincing, as he uses the blow dryer. Natasha bought him the hair dryer as a joke but it was useful in the winter months when Bucky didn't want to go around with wet hair.

He still remembers the days when he'd just been hosed off and dripped until he was dry. But right now, blasting the hot air on his scalp almost feels too good. He shuts it off and yanks the comb through it some more, eyes glancing down.

He can barely stand to look at himself. He finally stops when he looks at the comb and sees clumps of hair in it. His eyes are watering.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the details don't come to him that night. They come later, maybe a few days later, piece by piece.

Steve. His Steve.

Had he been out of his mind?

He doesn't remember many details from that time, but he knows that he felt lost. That everything seemed to move too quickly or too slowly. That violence was interspersed with periods of waiting that seemed to last forever and yet seemed to disappear too soon, like dew evaporating on a hot day.

All through it, pal'ing around with the Howlies and cracking empty jokes. Making everybody else laugh to forget that he wasn't quite right. All through it, the undercurrent of anger and envy.

 

He dreams about lab tables that are cold and lights that are too bright and hot on his face. He dreams about sweating from the pain as instruments mercilessly prod at delicate tissue and the desire, the need to vomit. Nausea that sweeps through him, up from his belly to his head and then back down toward his feet in slow, gargantuan waves.

Bucky wakes up and feels himself gagging, so he stumbles out of bed. He has to clamp his flesh hand over his mouth before he gets to the toilet to keep the vomit from getting on the floor.

 

He comes to while rinsing his mouth out and washing his hands. Bucky looks up into the mirror, sees someone standing by the door and jumps, whirling, hands ready for combat. He bangs his knee on the counter and Steve winces.

“I'm sorry, Buck.”

Bucky shakes his head.

“Fine,” he says, cold sweat beading his forehead. “It's fine.”

“Bad dream?”

He turns in a daze, for a moment wanting to roll his eyes at Steve and just tell him to fuck off and go back to bed. It feels like the most natural thing – what he or Steve would have said to each other back in the old days when one tried to coddle the other - and something that Steve would celebrate, Bucky being comfortable expressing himself, and for a moment he feels grounded.

But then he remembers that there is nothing to celebrate now. There will never be anything to celebrate again.

And everything goes sweeping away like debris in a mudslide.

He closes his eyes against the sensation. He remembers a storm once, in a port city and waves that came up over walls and swept him away; he remembers the feeling of being unmoored, reaching out and trying to grab something, anything, but everything he could grab on to was also being tugged along by the current.

This is his fault. This is _all_ his fault.

He lets out a small laugh as he looks up at Steve slowly.

“Buck?”

“I feel... sick,” he shakes his head. How can he even begin to explain? Can he tell Steve about it?

The answer is no. He can't. Because he's too fucking selfish and cowardly.

Steve gets him some water to drink but Bucky can barely stand swallowing it. The blond prattles at him soothingly as he sits on the side of the bed, trying to help coax Bucky back to sleep.

Then Steve's hand is resting on his right hand and he stares at it before looking up at Steve with a lost expression.

“I'm sorry,” Steve's smile fades. He starts to pull his hand away but Bucky reaches out and takes it in his. Then they stare at eachother. Steve smiles again slowly. Bucky's own lips stretch at the corners.

'I'm in hell,' he thinks. He thought he'd escaped Hydra but nope, he's still been in hell all along and this was a nice illusion.

He eventually does fall back to sleep, Steve holding his right hand in both of his own and stroking it.

He doesn't deserve it, he thinks. He doesn't deserve it's warmth.

 

 


	2. An Appointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Bucky find the courage tell Steve about what he remembered?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the confusion to the number of chapters. I always forget to mark stories as having multiple chapters. There's going to be more to the story, fyi.

Two and a half weeks have gone by and he still hasn't found a good time to tell Steve.

They continue through their comfortable routine; Steve gets up early and goes jogging with Sam. Then Steve comes home and he and Bucky eat breakfast together. Sometimes Bucky joins Steve and Sam on their jogs, but he likes to think that's Steve's time to talk to his friend; that he's being nice and letting Steve have an outlet, someone to talk to in private about Bucky. After breakfast Steve goes on errands or he goes to Stark Tower and probably argues with Stark about this or that. Stark's building robots for some kind of global peacekeeping force. In the afternoons, Steve is usually free but he's training. He's found an old fashioned gym he likes to train in near the house and sometimes he goes up to Stark tower to train. Bucky occasionally goes with him.

He doesn't really feel comfortable going to Stark tower because he often wonders if Stark knows about Howard and Maria Stark and what he knows about their deaths. He's never had the balls to ask.

In the early days, he lived with Steve and Sam, but they went to 'Avenger's Tower' so that Stark could look at his arm, fiddle with it. He removed tracking devices, explosives that could be remotely detonated, even a cyanide capsule. That one made Bucky wince because that would have been a slow, grisly death, especially for a body that could heal itself and delay the poison's effects.

Stark was friendly, chatty to the point of being almost too much. But they'd never talked in any depth about anything.

Most evenings, Steve is free to hang around the house and they watch movies together or t.v. Or Bucky watches t.v while Steve reads. Steve mentioned that Bucky used to love to read and even enjoyed writing, but nowadays Bucky finds that his attention span struggles with words on a page. There's something else about it too, like it's illicit without permission. It's his programming, most likely. Why would Hydra have wanted their pet assassin to read about things unless they were manuals or instructions? He might get _ideas._

Over the course of two and a half weeks, there were three public events Steve had to go to – two in the evening, one in the afternoon – one Avenger's 'family dinner' at Stark Tower, one unofficial Avenger's family dinner at Steve's place, and one therapy session for Bucky.

 

* * *

 

His therapy sessions were... okay. He'd only recently started going to a psych. He usually went once every two weeks but he'd had to reschedule after a bad day. (He hadn't felt like leaving the house that day – something about remembering the week earlier that he'd betrayed his best friend) His therapist's name was Dorothy, which was kind of a cute name. She was a sensible older lady who fortunately reminded him of no one. She was also a veteran herself. He had a whole team of medical professionals, including Dr Bruce “I'm not that kind of doctor” Banner who was, like Sam, more of a consultant.

He had two psychiatrists, a therapist, and a dietician. (Because he still had a hard time eating solid food like a normal human being). But of his therapy team, Dorothy was his favorite.

The therapy session went... well, he supposed - okay as usual. Dorothy said he seemed nervous, which he admitted he was. She seemed to have discovered the trick Natasha had where instead of pressing for information, she just let people stew until they finally blurted whatever was bothering them. Bucky both liked and hated this quality. He finally mentioned remembering he'd done something shitty to Steve in the past.

She raised her eyebrows.

“I'd rather not go into details,” he quickly added, heart pounding. 'Coward,' he thought.

She shrugged.

“That's fine. You can tell or not tell me as much or as little as you like. I've always told you that, James.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“How did remembering this make you feel?”

He took a deep breath and exhaled, shuddery.

Like shit. Horrible. Like he should still be in hell, or rather, in Hydra, getting dicks shoved up his ass. Like maybe he _deserved_ all of it.

Then again, Bucky hadn't exactly stopped believing he deserved that. He murdered innocent people for fuck's sake, on _Hydra's_ orders. Sure, he was tortured and brainwashed, but while that might be excuse enough for Steve, it would never be an excuse to Bucky.

She watched him quietly for a while.

“I feel like a piece of shit,” he confessed.

She frowned.

“Does Steve know what-”

He shook his head rapidly, locking eyes with her.

“I don't... think so.”

She blinked, seemed to get his distress, but as if unsure what to say.

“Well, maybe it's worth talking to him about?”

Bucky groaned and put his head in his hands. He let out a dry laugh.

“Yeah... I'm working on that.”

“You can practice on me if you need to,” she offered. “Or,” she held up her hands as he looked up at her with a panicked expression. “You can try practicing in a mirror at home. You could write out what you need to say first.”

He nodded.

“Do you think that maybe he'd think whatever you're worried about isn't that big of a deal after all?”

He'd made a big deal out of every little fucking mistake in the early days, so it was a valid question. Dorothy knew about his punishments for various mistakes; speaking out of turn, making eye contact that was aggressive or challenging, crying during a punishment. Both her and Steve knew about the batons and the beatings, but there was a lot of shit Steve _didn't_ know about.

Bucky could barely even speak to Dorothy about some things from his time in Hydra. He still hadn't really gone into detail about his punishments, aside from beatings.

He shook his head.

“I think this one is serious.”

She tilted her head, breathed in and out slowly.

“Well, sounds like it's worth talking to him about then.”

He exhaled heavily.

“But don't do it until you're ready! And you feel _safe_ talking to him about it.”

Ha. _Safe._ That was hilarious. Bucky forced his lips to stretch into a small smile.

“Thanks,” was all he'd had to say before standing up. She set up a time for him to see her in another two weeks and encouraged him to call her if he had a bad day.

“Are you keeping up with your journal?” she asked.

Bucky frowned. “Trying?” he said, grimacing a little. She laughed.

“Don't stress it. I'm not going to rap you on the knuckles if you don't.”

He nodded. “I know. I have written a little, I just... don't know how to write about this.”

What he really meant was that he couldn't stand the thought of Steve finding his journal and in his own not-trying-to-be-intrusive-but-totally-snooping-because-he-cared way reading Bucky's notebook and finding out about it. Yes, that would induce a catastrophe level panic attack at best.

Dorothy patted him on the flesh shoulder and told him to keep her apprised of things before his next visit.

 

* * *

 

He's sitting on the sofa the next afternoon when Steve is getting off the phone – something about the heat not working. In a house with two super soldiers who both despise the cold, it's just not something they can ignore.

“Are they coming to fix it?” he asks when Steve sighs and comes to sit down on the sofa next to him.

“No they already did. They were just calling to make sure it's working.”

Bucky frowns. “When did they come fix it?”

“Yesterday. You were out at the apppointment.”

“Oh.”

Bucky has a workbook for anxiety and PTSD on his lap, open, and he's been scrawling notes in his journal. He sets it aside as Steve turns on the tv. Then Steve frowns as he looks over at Bucky's workbook.

“Am I bothering you?”

“No, no.” He sets it aside. “I've been doing that for an hour. I can take a break.”

“Okay,” Steve nodded. “Want to watch anything?”

The channel currently on is TLC. Bucky frowns at the show about extremely overweight people.

“Um...”

Steve laughs. “Probably not this, right?”

“Yeah, probably not,” Bucky smiles. Sometimes watching other people struggle with their recovery makes him think about his own and it's not really something he likes to dwell on. Steve switches over to a movie – _The Maze Runner_.

“How about this?”

Bucky shrugs. They watch as teenage boys argue about some giant concrete doorway. As the movie progresses, Bucky notices how close Steve is sitting, his arm around the back of the couch.

He glances over at the blonde's midsection, trying not to think about his thick torso and how warm it might be if...

He refocuses his attention on the movie.

After a moment, he realizes Steve's fingers are lightly touching his hair, draped over the back of the couch. He leans his head back slowly, cursing himself. It's just... he really likes Steve's hands.

The nimble fingers twitch as if sensing the nearness of his hair. Steve starts to pull his hand away.

“Sorry,” he smiles sheepishly. Bucky tenses.

“No, it's fine,” he glances up at the screen, feeling his cheeks heat. Fortunately his blush has never been as intense as Steve's. The blonde looks at him, surprise written all over his gaze, then smiles a little.

“Oh...” he gently brushes his fingers through Bucky's hair and the brun leans his head back, eyes closing for a moment.

The heat rises in his neck and face as Steve begins to card his fingers through dark hair. Bucky should stop him – it isn't right, especially since...

But he decides to be selfish and let the petting continue. Besides, if he stops Steve now, his friend will feel bad. He'll think Bucky doesn't like his touch.

He watches the movie under his eyelashes as he leans back into the fingers. When he glances over and sees Steve smiling a little, fondly, at him, he smiles back and his gut twists.

'Traitor.'

He nearly pulls away, but ends up shifting closer instead. He lets Steve's hand slide over his right shoulder, lets his left side tilt into the warmth of Steve's right.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away, when he notices Steve adjusting to accommodate for his metal left arm.

“It's fine.” Steve's hand gently rests on his shoulder and Bucky swallows. He likes the feel of it – how strong it is under the warmth of the skin. Steve could hold him down, tear him a part if he liked, but he would never do that.

Steve would never hurt him.

He relaxes slowly, leaning into the blonde. He closes his eyes for a few moments, listening to Steve's heart pounding through his ribs. He's so warm, like a radiator and Bucky smiles a little, remembering how during the war he would...

'Traitor.'

He tenses. On the screen, the teenage boys are aiming spears at someone – ordering them into the maze.

“This movie is pretty brutal,” Steve notes. Bucky lets out a weak chuckle.

“Yeah. Guess so.”

There's nothing about the scene that really says 'brutal' to Bucky. Probably because his definition is totally different.

He notices Steve's hand is rubbing his shoulder, rubbing up toward his neck and his eyes slide closed.

Just a little longer. He'll soak up the warmth for just-

He turns his head and finds Steve looking right at him. The blue eyes are hooded and he can see the thought forming in the blonde's head. He doesn't have the will to protest as the other man leans in and their lips meet.

They're alone in the house. Sam's out somewhere, running errands. Steve's lips are soft and warm, his kiss gentle but Bucky can taste the longing there.

He groans a little, shifting in his seat, so that his chest faces Steve.

They both move carefully, Bucky's arm behind Steve's lower back, his other hand moving to rest on Steve's cheek as their lips and tongues entangle.

Steve's breathing is deep, heavy. Bucky hums and sucks on his lower lip. Large hands gently slide into his hair and he nearly whimpers.

They finally pull apart and Steve is smiling softly.

“Buck.” A thumb brushes against his cheek.

He closes his eyes. He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't.

When he opens them, Steve looks a little sad, concerned.

“What's wrong?”

He shakes his head.

He'll spend his whole life making it up. It's the only thing he can do.

'Liar.'

“Nothing,” he says and smiles a little, brushing his own thumb over Steve's lip. They both smile before leaning in for another kiss.

They don't move beyond kissing. Neither of them are ready though Bucky gets the feeling he's not the only one getting hard. Steve is beautiful all the time, but he's even more beautiful with kiss swollen lips and dewy eyes. Bucky can't keep the smile from his lips and since it makes Steve smile even more broadly, he can't quite listen to the self loathing whispering in the back of his mind.

 


	3. The Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past catches up with Bucky and he has to make a choice between his own dignity and safety and the happiness of his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Blackmail, sexual harassment, forced masturbation, humiliation/shaming, mild nipple play, orgasm control/denial, danger of exposure. 
> 
> This is where the trash begins. Next two chapters will probably also include trash. Did I mention this is a trash fic? Oh yeah, it definitely a trash fic.   
> This fic is pretty much 20% trash and then 80% angst and recovery. Please pay attention to the tags!

Now he's sitting on the sofa in the living room, the notebook open on his lap, the tv on. Adventure Time is playing quietly in the background. Bucky is comfortably dressed in a hoodie, sweats, and thick socks, but contemplating getting up and turning the heat down. Steve is off on an errand. Or possibly meeting with Sam somewhere incognito so he can talk shit about Bucky. Not in a mean way but in a 'I think Something's Going on With Bucky and He Won't Tell Me What it Is' kind of way. Poor Sam. Bucky really owes him something – a dinner out somewhere nice. Probably a hundred dinners out somewhere nice.

'Should probably do that before, you know, Steve finds out you're a slimy fucking snake and you're barred forever from his life.'

He swallows, trying to direct his thoughts back to the notebook.

What the fuck is he even supposed to write? “Remembered I betrayed Steve the other day. Lol what a fuck up?”

He starts as if he's trying to write a letter to Steve. He gets as far as “Dear Steve,” when his cell phone rings.

“Fuck,” he rolls his eyes and closes the notebook, scrambling up and leaving the pen on his seat. He grabs it off the coffee table. He frowns at the unknown number. Natalia?

With a smirk, he answers the phone.

“Da?” he snaps as if he's busy or in the middle of something.

“Aw,” a male voice croons. For a moment he's confused and then he recognized the voice. His whole body freezes, as if ice is traveling up his veins. “You're so precious.”

He looks around, trying not to show any panic on his face but he's already tense. Good to know the old fear is still there. When was the last time he had a panic attack? When was the last time he did a night time perimeter check?

Too long ago, clearly.

“Rollins,” he says in the flattest tone he can manage. He's internally panicking, trying to summon back the asset. But the asset has been sleeping, hibernating; unneeded, unwanted.

The man chuckles.

“You sound so sweet now, baby.”

“Fuck off,” he snaps, then curses himself mentally for reacting. God fucking damn it, seven months living with Rogers and you're already soft.

“Ohh, I don't think you want to talk to me like that, baby.”

He resists the shudder that wants to roll down his spine. Rollins only talked like that when... He swallows.

“Yeah?” his tone is flat again. He can feel the asset creeping back in, oh thank fucking God. “Why not?” He nearly tacks on a 'sir' at the end and he feels sick.

“Because I know who you really are. Traitor.”

Now it feels like a wave of heat is sliding down his skin from the top of his scalp over his face, down his neck to his shoulders. His mouth is dry and his palms are sweating.

“Oh? Who told you this?” he scoffs. “Your boyfriend the Axe Fairy?”

Rollins laughs. “The Axe Fairy. Fuck. You _do_ have a sense of humor. Oh baby, we're gonna have so much fun together.” He can just see the sick fuck licking his lips. “Rogers made you all nice and soft for me, didn't he? Look at you.”

He was already frozen but now his eyes begin to scan toward the windows. He swallows, desperately trying to remember if Steve invited anyone new in recently. Shit. The heating was fixed the other day.

He looks up at the tv on the wall, scanning it's edges, looks down at the Wii on the small table below it.

He slowly gets up from the couch and pads away from the windows, as if he's walking into the kitchen, but he turns down the hall toward the bedrooms. He leans against the wall in the hallway and peers into the living room, toward the windows. He looks up at the corners of the room, at the bookcase.

“Aw, don't be shy,” Rollins laughs. “I love your new look. Bet you're nice and cozy-”

“What do you want?” he manages, though his voice is trembling.

“Trying to sound tough, huh? Who'd have guessed, the Winter Soldier is a little home-”

“Let me rephrase that. _Tell me_ what you fucking want or I'll find you and I'll shove this phone so far up your ass-”

“Oh I'm sorry, did I not make myself clear? Step back into the living room. Or Rogers gets to hear my favorite movie scene of all time. You know, the one where Bucky Barnes _betrays him to Hydra_. Such a classic fucking scene but it's weird. Doesn't seem to be in _any_ of the movies they ever made about Cap. How about that, huh?”

He steps into the living room, his instincts, his whole fucking body screaming at him to get back in the hallway. To run to his bedroom, to find the weapons he had stored there and foolishly stopped wearing on his person.

'What the fuck is wrong with you? How could you be so stupid?'

“Mm, you shave now, huh? Yeah look at that little baby face. You were so cute when they cleaned you up.”

He clenches his teeth and tries to keep his breathing even. He's already made the most rookie fucking mistake – you never, never ask what they want.

But he knows and Rollins knows – there's no point in pretending otherwise – that he'll do whatever it takes to keep Steve from finding out. Because the hurt that Bucky will see in his friend's eyes if he does find out, the anger, the disgust...

Bucky can't survive that. He can't.

The entire house feels like a paper box folding in around him. Rollins can see him, whether it's through a camera or a window, it doesn't fucking matter. He was never safe here, and he knew it.

Safety is an illusion. It always was. 

“Aww, don't look like that. It's going to be just fine, baby. Now take off that sweater. I wanna see your body.”

He swallows.

“You mean you haven't already been spying?” his eyes are flicking around the room again and that's when he spots it, up in the corner just behind the fucking front door. Rollins chuckles.

“Hiii,” he sings. “Uh uh, don't you dare take that down. That's my entertainment. And you're my private show. So unless you want this private show to go public along with Bucky Barnes the All American Coward,” it sounds like Rollins is getting comfortable in his chair. Bucky can almost imagine the sound of a fly unzipping and his stomach turns. “Why don't you go ahead and leave the tv on – cute, by the way, cartoons - and take off your sweater? Nice and slow.”

He puts the phone down on the back of the sofa, then pulls his sweater off, mechanically at first, then slower. Then he picks up the phone.

“Go ahead and put me on loud speaker. Don't worry. Rogers won't be back for a while.”

His eyes widen slightly.

“What did you do?”

“What? Oh, pfft!” Rollins is chuckling. “Baby, relax. Rogers is fine. He's uh... he's at the grocery store. He's trying to decide between grape jelly and fucking strawberry.”

Bucky's brain actually has a moment to think 'God fucking damn it, he knows I can't eat jelly,' before his brain gets it's shit together and remembers the horror story they are currently in.

“You two are so cute by the way,” Rollins purrs. He gasps softly like he's stroking himself and Bucky swallows. He wants to run to the bathroom and be sick but he just turns the phone on speaker like he was ordered to and sets it down on the couch again.

“Now the tank top. Mm, you look so good in that. You should just wear those and nothing else, always.”

He slides it off, feeling already filthy, feeling hands on him, everywhere.

“There we go. Now make them nice and perky for me. You know how I like it.”

He wants to scream. He wants to throw the fucking phone against the wall but to do that is suicide. The recording will be everywhere.

He remembers it now. He knows it's real. Rollins doesn't even need to play it for him, because they did – on repeat, in his early days. He even remembers they used to loop it with the radio broadcast of Steve's death. How had he forgotten? How could he have forgotten?

'Don't do this,' he tells himself. 'Don't think about that right now. Just do what you have to do. He'll get bored. He'll leave.'

'No he won't. He won't get bored. He's just fucking getting started.'

He's plucking at his own nipples, twisting them and tugging just like he used to. Rollins loved playing with his nipples because he could make them so sensitive. The asset would just whimper and squirm and get a good switching.

'You love it. You love this.'

“Good boy,” Rollins breathes and Bucky wants to scream when part of him, deep down, feels like home. He just shudders and tries not to look up at the camera above the door. Steve and Sam have been walking under that camera every morning for how long exactly? Bucky's been lounging around on the couch. He and Steve have been watching movies, sitting closer together, holding hands, giving each other a soft kiss on the lips – for how fucking long has Rollins been watching?

He's absent-mindedly sliding his hands up and down over his ribs and belly when he comes back to himself and stops. Oh god. Ugh.

“Oh, why'd you stop? That was sexy. You're still such a natural, baby. You haven't lost it.”

He closes his eyes, cursing Rollins, cursing himself.

He pushes his pants down slowly. Rollins laughs.

“I don't even have to tell you what to do. You haven't forgotten how to please me, have you baby?”

“No,” he responds after a few moments.

“No what?”

“No, sir.”

“Mm-hmm. Except, I want you to turn around. Show me that beautiful ass. God, I've missed that tight ass of yours.”

He does and feels the tiniest relief that Rollins just revealed there's only one camera in the room, at least, only one that he could see Bucky's front from. He could be faking, deflecting from other cameras, trying to make Bucky feel secure-

And goddamnit this is how they always used to fuck with him, isn't it? Always making him second guess everything because any little fuck up led to punishment, led to their hands on him like a pack of wild animals and how fucking stupid was he that he even thought he could avoid that? When they would find any excuse? The mission went well, the mission went poorly, it's raining, you were bad, you were so good... it never mattered.

They did it because they could. And he always knew that.

He's having a hard time breathing and he wonders if this is how Steve always felt during those asthma attacks. He's breathing heavily through his lips, silent gasps, as he exposes his ass and steps out of his pants and boxer shorts.

“Hold up your panties for me baby. Show me.”

He obeys, turning to show them. They're just plain navy briefs.

Rollins chuckles. “You like a little support, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” he doesn't even have to manufacture the flat tone this time and he feels so fucking grateful to the asset. 'Where have you been why did I ever forsake you, I'm so sorry, come here you.'

“Do not fucking talk to me like that,” Rollins's voice is a low growl. “You know I want to hear that pretty voice of yours. What were you singing last night?”

Oh god.

His face flushes. He ducks his head, trying to hide it. Rollins whistles lowly.

“God, look at that. Are you blushing?" he laughs. "You're so human again, aren't you?”

He swallows as he lowers the hand holding up the briefs and drops them.

“Fuck, you are so pretty. I'm gonna see if we can't hold off on wiping you this time.”

He wants to scream then. To run. To run to Steve at the store, to take his hand and keep running, run away... To Stark Tower, to a deserted island, it doesn't fucking matter.

They'll always find him.

“Shh,” Rollins says. “It's okay, baby. Nobody's gonna make you do anything you don't wanna do, _Buck_.”

He swallows against his bile and the urge to shout.

“Aw, are you angry, baby? I can see how pissed off you look. Well let me tell you something, okay? You don't take a deep breath and calm down? You don't give me those pretty blue eyes and those soft lips and that tight fucking ass when I demand it? You try to find me or for some godforsaken fucking reason you try to kill me?” Rollins laughs. “My friend the Axe Fairy posts my favorite movie scene fucking _everywhere_.”

His heart is a stone dropping into his stomach.

“There won't be a single place Rogers will be able to go without hearing about you. I wonder if he'll be so forgiving this time, huh?” Rollins's voice is hard and cold, the purr completely gone. "But we don't have to worry about that now, do we?" Then it comes oozing back like melted chocolate and Bucky hates himself, loathes himself and Rollins with the intensity of a fucking sun going supernova for how it makes him feel inside. Warm, like he's been such a good boy and now he'll get a treat.

He gags in response, unable to speak.

“No, sir. Please,” he says and he didn't know he could hate himself anymore. But with Hydra, there's always surprises.

“Good boy. Very good,” Rollins says. He's all soft and soothing again, voice like dark closets and going into cryo. Letting everything slip away, so easily. Because what does fighting get you but pain?

“Oop. We're gonna have to cut this short. Looks like somebody's on his way back from the grocery store. Oh and he went with peach preserves by the way. Tell him his ass looks like a peach,” Rollins laughs.

Bucky is flooded by both relief and more self loathing. Always more, always more is possible, he thinks.

“Do me one more favor. Look into the camera for me.”

He obeys, wanting to get this over with as quick as possible.

“Don't look so sad. Put your right hand on your dick. That's a good boy. See how hard you are? Feel that?”

Bucky wants to rip his dick off and throw it into the bushes outside the fucking house. He wants to throw it as far away from him as he can and never think about it again. He strokes it and it feels like a limb fallen asleep. It's the only way he can tolerate the pulsing need between his legs.

“Yeah. That's how you're programmed. You know that, don't you? You can't get this from Rogers.”

He chokes back a sob. Because it's true and he fucking hates himself.

'Oh God, Steve, oh god.'

“Please,” he begs finally, hating himself.

“All right, baby. Shh. Just stroke it okay? There we go... yeah keep stroking. That's right.”

Bucky glances at the door, at the windows, then back at the camera.

“Don't worry baby. He's not home yet. Shh. Just keep stroking. Good boy.”

He can hear Rollins groan softly on the other end of the line. “Fuck, so pretty... lick your lips for me. That's right. Now play with your titties. Good boy. Keep stroking. Faster.”

He tries to ignore the impending orgasm, the warm pleasure flooding his lower belly and groin. He swallows.

“When's the last time you touched yourself huh?”

He clenches his teeth mutinously but remembers what Rollins said about not glaring at him. He tries to soften his gaze, looking down. It's disturbing just how easily he can slip back into it.

“Mm...” Something in Bucky's chest fights him, doesn't want to let Rollins have this little piece of him. 'No, it's mine, you fucking swore you'd never let them do this to us again-'

“Last night,” he admits, his face flushing.

“Ugh, god, fuck...” Rollins groans as he comes. “Mmm... Did you play with your ass?”

Bucky hates the way his brain just slides back into the slot at the sound of Rollins's pleasure – maybe now he'll get to come too. He chokes again, blinking against the renewed heat in his eyes.

“No,” Bucky says honestly, relieved.

“Mm, I know you've gotta be fucking lying to me. You need it in your ass, don't you?”

“I didn't,” he repeats, hating how quickly he responds. Rollins chuckles.

“Okay, baby. Well don't worry. We're gonna get that ass what it needs soon, okay?”

“Y...yes,” he says, eyes on the carpet. “Yes, sir.”

Rollins laughs again.

'Please let this be over. Please God, just let this all be over.'

He hears Steve's motorcycle pulling up outside and curses. Rollins laughs and curses himself. He sounds relieved, like he's practically fucking glowing.

“Ah, fuck, I'm sorry baby. All right. You get dressed – oop, no no. Don't run. Stay there. Dress quickly.”

He scrambles into his clothes, Rollins laughing at him with his trembling hands and his frustrated body.

As soon as he's dressed, he grabs the phone and takes it off speaker, then glares up at the camera. He remembers and looks down again. Steve is coming in. Think of Steve.

Steve with his warmth and his kindness and his slow grin. He closes his eyes.

“Look at me,” Rollins orders. He obeys. “God, you're beautiful. All right. You don't touch yourself until we meet, okay?”

He doesn't get to ask when that will be. Rollins hangs up and he's left half hard, blue balled, choking and wiping at his face. He scrambles to sit on the couch and pretends to stare at the tv, trying not to glance at the camera again. He can just see Rollins fucking laughing, he just hear him.

Steve comes in, all hearty breath and heavy steps. He smiles at Bucky who looks up at him and his heart just fucking breaks.

“Hey Buck,” then his smile fades slightly. Goddamn Steve and his ability to hone in on Bucky's pain.“

Don't,” he tells Steve, pleading.

He should tell him. He should tell him right now in defiance of goddamn Rollins.

'Fuck you, Hydra. You don't get to ruin my relationship.'

' _I do._ '

“Okay,” Steve nods. “Well,” he looks at the bags in his hands, then heads to the kitchen. Bucky gets up and shuts the door after him. “Oh, thanks.” Steve is already getting dinner ready and Bucky follows him into the kitchen, not feeling safe in the living room anymore. He sits at the small bar on one of the stools. Here at least, he's out of sight of... he glances around, checking for more cameras.

Steve glances to him, readying the oven and getting a pot in place on it, pouring in some oil...

“Something happen?”

“No,” he frowns at Steve who nods and looks away. Bucky hates how Steve just fucking bends over like that, sometimes. He wishes the other man would just tell him to go fuck himself.

'Fuck you, asshole, I'm only asking because I give a shit.'

The old Steve would have given him hell. The skinny little guy would have hounded him for a fucking hour like 'What is it, Buck? Come out with it already. Stop acting like a nervous cat.'

He lets out a soft laugh, remembering how they used to end up shouting at eachother. Steve looks to him, lips wanting to tug up at the corners.

God, how does he do this to his friend? He smiles at Steve.

“Sorry. Just memories,” he shrugs. Steve smiles then and his eyes are sympathetic again. It's too much. Bucky doesn't deserve it. He _doesn't_. 

'How could you fucking do this to him?'

He gets up and grabs a glass of water to hide his face. His mouth is also incredibly dry. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: Rollins calls Bucky's phone while Steve is out and threatens to leak the recording of him betraying Steve to Hydra if he doesn't obey his orders. Rollins then orders Bucky to masturbate, revealing that there's a camera in the living room. Bucky obeys. Rollins reveals that he has eyes on Steve at the grocery store and Steve is on his way home. Rollins then orders Bucky not to come until they meet in person. 
> 
> And there's that angst I told you about at the end there! Don't worry. It won't all be horrible trash and angst!


	4. Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky tries to endure Rollins's obscene demands. Meanwhile, Steve grows more concerned about his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember where I got the idea of Bucky helping Steve breathe - holding him and breathing with him. I think it was 'Turn Back the Clock' by Bluandorange though I'm pretty sure that happens in a number of fics. Unfortunately 'Turn Back the Clock' was never finished. *cries forever* 
> 
> Warnings: Trash, obvs. Sexting/text harassment. Non con domination. Orgasm delay/denial. Continued blackmail and use of cameras. Brief Bucky fantasizing about killing Rollins.

 

Five days slowly pass. Five days of trying to convince Steve he's okay.

Five days of fucking Rollins texting him and giving him random orders. Shit like 'Don't eat until I tell you' or 'Don't piss until I say you can.' Bucky is forced to keep from pissing for nearly a whole day and he's almost squirming by the end of it. When he finally gets to piss, Rollins makes him take a video of the whole thing and send it to him with a 'Thank you, Daddy' and a smile tagged along at the end.

He has to go to a therapy appointment on Wednesday – the day after Rollins first called him – and of course it's interrupted by several text messages. He glances at his phone during the meeting.

Dorothy asks if he talked to Steve yet about 'what was bothering him' and _of course he didn't_.

“This is only going to make you feel worse the more you drag it out,” is what she has to say which is so fucking unhelpful, Bucky can't even speak for a solid minute. He just glares at the floor.

He knows she's trying to help and she has no idea what's going on and maybe if he told her she might even have a helpful suggestion but if it involves telling Steve the truth then he's just going to laugh in her face.

So he doesn't tell her.

Rollins wants him to go to the nearest bathroom to fingerfuck himself in the ass then and there. Of course.

Bucky has a feeling the bastard knows he's in therapy – they're watching him, they have to be or at least Rollins is – but he excuses himself anyway and spends thirty minutes in the bathroom, pretending he's throwing up while fulfilling Rollins's twisted fucking fantasies.

He's ordered to finger himself in the ass and take pictures and then Rollin wants him to make a video of himself fingering himself in the ass so he has to prop the fucking camera on the fucking toilet.

He also isn't allowed to come or touch his dick – save to pee - the entire week which doesn't help his mood. He could just jerk off anyway but he doesn't really like the idea of Rollins figuring it out somehow. There might be a camera in his bedroom for all he knows. Not that he hasn't searched for it.

When he comes back from the bathroom, he has a hard time meeting his therapist's eyes. She's sympathetic when she finds out he's been 'throwing up' which just makes Bucky feel even worse – honestly he almost actually threw up while pretending, it wasn't that hard to fake – and she tells him to go ahead and come in next week.

He's about to leave with a sigh of relief when she chooses to say one more thing.

“I know you're afraid, James.”

James, ugh. Why can't she just call him 'Bucky?' James was always the name for doctors, teachers, and his mother.

He nods.

“And whether or not you tell Steve is up to you, ultimately. But I can tell it's wearing on you and if it's bothering you that much to keep it to yourself, it's not going to help with your recovery.”

He just nods again and thanks her and with a 'See you next week,' he skips the fuck out.

Rollins, fortunately, doesn't bother him the rest of the day.

 

The worst part is the waiting. Wondering when Rollins is going to text him next or worse call him, maybe while he's in the middle of talking to Steve. Rollins will whisper filthy shit in his ear, and he'll pop a boner. That's actually the subject of one of Bucky's nightmares. Except that that alone would be too logical for a nightmare. No, it gets worse. He somehow has no pants the rest of the nightmare and then he's lying on the floor begging Steve to fuck him, to punish his ass hard.

He wakes up with sticky boxers. For a moment, he panics, thinking he came in his sleep, but no, his dick is still aching and his balls feel heavy.

He just lies back and curses himself for a while silently. Then he gets up and takes a shower.

Rollins could just forbid him from showering and thank whatever God is in the sky that he didn't think of it. Bucky's maybe much worse at thinking of horrible things and he starts to make a mental list of shit he'll do to Rollins when he gets his hands on the sonofabitch.

He mostly tries to figure out a way to get a hold of the recording or whatever it is that Rollins actually has. The worst part of the week is when it occurs to him that Bucky doesn't even know for sure that Rollins _has_ the recording. The asshole may have just heard about it and decided to take advantage of its existence.

That just gives him a fresh rush of fury and makes him wonder if he should just go ahead and kill Rollins. Slip into his apartment, slit his throat – which would be a game for Bucky really and way too easy a death for a bastard like Rollins.

Okay, slip into his apartment, knock him out and tie him up, figure out where his copy of the recording is, destroy it and then slowly cut him apart. Maybe even go Hannibal on his ass and eat his muscles in front of him one by one.

It's been a bad, bad week. Even while he was the asset he didn't fantaize about hurting people. Well, aside from hitting techs in the face or Pierce, anyway. He can take a moment to appreciate the irony that it's only during recovery that he started wanting to kill people. Something about remembering all of the shit Hydra did to him over the years.

He is such an idiot. Why didn't he demand Rollins play it during the initial phone call? Granted, Rollins might have used the opportunity to torment him even more but is he such a moron these days that he didn't even make sure Rollins had the recording?

He's still too terrified to call the bastard on his bluff.

No, he thinks bitterly, better to spend every waking minute fearing the next message and what he'll demand.

 

On Friday, he demands that Bucky impale himself on something, anally of course. Bucky's weapon of choice ends up being a hair brush handle. Rollins even calls him in the middle of the process.

“How's it going?” he murmurs into the phone.

Bucky grits his teeth as he starts to slide down onto it. He had to work himself open with three fingers and in the middle of it he started remembering things that made him tremble and want to throw up. He tries to focus on his breathing as he slides down on it.

“It's... almost completely in.”

“The whole fucking brush?” Rollins sounds awed.

“N-no, sir.”

“Daddy,” Rollins corrects. “How's it feel, pretty boy?”

No use denying it. “It feels good, Daddy.”

Rollins laughs. “I bet. You're gonna make a video okay? Of yourself riding that brush. I want you to get real close until you're about to come. Then stop. Okay?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“And then I wanna see your face at the end. Want you to say 'Thank you' like you did the other day, okay sexy?”

Bucky shudders. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy,” Rollins croons and he wishes he didn't feel the warmth spreading through his chest. He wants, badly, to take himself in hand and work himself over until he comes. But whatever punishment Rollins will think of won't be worth it. He might just send Steve the recording then.

“I'll talk to you later, princess,” he snickers. “Love you, baby.”

Ugh.

“Love you too, Daddy,” he grunts as he slowly starts to ride the hairbrush.

It barely takes five minutes of gripping his thigh with his flesh hand, trying to keep it off his cock, before he's reaching the edge. He shivers as he turns the camera on his phone on.

Steve knocks on his door.

'Fuck. Fuck! All the shitty luck...'

“Buck?”

He stops filming and pauses, gritting his teeth.

“Yes?” he calls. His door, is of course, locked.

Steve tries the handle and Bucky rolls his eyes. 'Of all the fucking luck...'

His cock throbs between his legs and he tries to ignore it, willing Steve to hurry the fuck up.

“Sam and I are making lunch. You hungry?”

“Uh, sure. Just a minute.”

“Okay. Well, it'll be ready when you come out. Roast beef sandwiches. Sam's recipe.”

“I make a damn good sandwich, Barnes!” Sam calls, probably from down the hall.

Bucky actually lets out a weak laugh.

“Okay... be there in a second...” he rolls his eyes again. He waits until he hears Steve's feet padding away and then he turns on the camera again. He rocks faster and faster, getting his momentum up. Make this one nice and juicy for Rollins.

He nearly halts at the thought, his hips slowing. Fuck. Why the hell...

'So he'll leave us alone, that's why.'

But it's bullshit and he knows it.

He begins to rock faster again. It's too much. It's too much and he can't handle it anymore. He's oversensitive and...

He gasps, seizing up and grabbing the base of his dick tightly to keep from coming. Shivers run through his body and he wants to cry. He settles for breathing heavily between his teeth, a growl.

Then he slowly pulls the brush handle out of his ass, shuddering and filming it all.

He slides the brush handle into his mouth, sucking it clean, just like Rollins ordered.

Then Bucky looks into the camera at last. He forces his lips to stretch.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

 

He cleans up afterward – cold shower. Throws the hairbrush in the trash because there is no fucking way he's ever using that thing again.

He rinses his mouth out with Listerine, brushes his teeth until his gums bleed. Then he stands for a few moments, leaning against the counter.

His ass is throbbing and sore, his dick is throbbing, his balls would officially like a divorce.

He can't ignore the worst thing, which is the warmth in his chest. _Good boy_.

The satisfaction of a job well done.

 

He goes to the dining room and forces himself to eat a sandwich. He manages to eat about half of it.

 

Saturday is suspiciously quiet. Bucky finds himself worrying that his phone isn't getting Rollins's texts and Rollins will be furious...

When he starts thinking he should maybe do something to his ass and send Rollins pictures, he decides he's officially fucked. He spends the rest of that day drinking beer.

He can sort of get a buzz if he drinks enough. It doesn't last long, not nearly long enough, but it sort of makes the noise in his head quieter. He's not supposed to drink on all the medication he's on but fuck it.

His body doesn't even give a shit about the medication anyway, or his brain doesn't. Medication barely works on Bucky – he has to have so much of it that it's suspicious at the pharmacy when he picks up his prescriptions. Steve is always there with him, being supportive.

Ugh, God, and isn't that the worst? He chuckles at himself as he drinks and watches some bullshit cooking show. Normally he'd make fun of the people on the screen – it's one of those competitions like Top Chef – but these days he has no energy for anything anymore.

“Buck?”

'Oh God. Here we go again.'

Steve sits down next to him on the sofa.

“Mm?” he sips another beer, glancing to his friend.

“Trying to break a record?” Rogers raises an eyebrow. Finally, some sass.

He chuckles, his eyes back on the tv screen.

“Maybe. See how much I can forget today.”

Steve just grunts. They sit watching the tv. Bucky has to pee but he almost doesn't want to. Maybe he'll just hold it. He doesn't even know why he wants to hold it, just... No, not for Rollins – fuck Rollins. It's his body. If he doesn't want to take a piss, he doesn't have to. Maybe that's it?

He gets up with a sigh, setting the bottle down and heading to the bathroom. He needs a cigarette. It won't help much either, like the beer, but maybe if he smokes two at once he can beat his serum for a few moments.

Cocaine. Heroin. Stronger things that Hydra sometimes gave him as a 'reward' come to mind. Usually it was when they wanted to fuck his brains out, but eh, he thinks as he heads to the bathroom, what else is new?

“Buck,” Steve turns to put an arm over the back of the couch, his eyes on Bucky. Bucky turns with a sigh and looks at him.

“Yeah?”

“Can we talk?”

“I need to piss, Steve,” he says flatly and then goes into the bathroom.

When he come out, Steve is still fucking on the couch waiting for him. With a roll of his eyes, he thinks 'Why not?' and he goes to sit down on the couch.

He looks at Steve, waiting, an eyebrow raised.

“You've had about six beers,” Steve says. “And you don't normally drink.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. I'm having a bad day.”

Steve nods. “But... you've been really distant lately. More than usual.”

'More than usual, oh thanks, pal,' Bucky thinks but he just smirks.

“I know,” he nods and looks away.

“I just wanted to know if I could do anything for you. I know you probably don't want to talk about whatever it is.”

Bucky lets out a laugh. God does he ever not want to be having this conversation right now!

And it hurts, because it's Steve and he'd love to be able to be honest with Steve, talk to him...

Then he remembers the camera and glances up at the wall, over by the door.

'Fuck. Is Rollins listening to this?'

He lowers his eyes and sighs.

“But just... tell me what I can do to make things easier?” Steve is looking at him with his beatiful blue eyes.

Bucky looks at him. How long can he keep this shit up?

He could tell Steve. But that's exactly what Rollins wants, isn't it? Either way, the bastard will get what he wants. There's only one way Bucky can see that doesn't involve hurting Steve.

He sighs.

“Um... well...” he tries to think. 'Give me space?'

But he doesn't really want Steve farther away. He's selfish like that.

“Come here,” he says, standing up. Steve blinks in surprise and follows him.

Bucky enters his bedroom first so he glances around making sure there's nothing... what? Incriminating?

Not that there really would be, unless it's a dirty hairbrush but that's in the garbage.

He smooths his blankets then sits on the edge of the bed. When Steve enters, he gives Bucky a puzzled look.

“Could you um...” God this is so selfish of him. If he wasn't already going to hell for all the shit he's done, he's definitely going to be Satan's head bitch for this.

Probably be lying right next to Hitler. Shit, Hitler's a fucking _choir boy_ compared to Bucky.

Steve is raising his eyebrows. There's a speck of hope in his eyes and that nearly has Bucky jumping up from the bed and saying 'Forget it, forget it.'

“Could you rub my shoulders?”

Steve smiles slowly, his eyes soft. “Sure.”

He breathes out slowly as Steve sits down next to him, gesturing with his hands for Bucky to turn. Bucky shifts so that his back is to Steve. Steve slowly puts his hands on Bucky's shoulders and the dark haired man closes his eyes, trying to relax.

“Wow,” Steve chuckles. “You're so tense.”

He wants to laugh. 'I know, right?I haven't come in like a week, Steve.'

Oh God, and that would open all kinds of questions, wouldn't it? Might open a door too...

He forces himself not to think of those powerful hands moving over his body, working him up until he comes in his pants. Tries not to think about Steve's hands massaging his dick, squeezing his balls...

Bucky closes his eyes after Steve gets started and smiles a little at the grunts the other man makes as he tries to gently apply the amount of pressure Bucky's shoulders apparently need. He winces when Steve squeezes along his flesh shoulder. He's noticed already that Steve stays closer to his neck on the side with his metal shoulder.

“Sorry,” Steve looks sheepish when Bucky glances back.

He chuckles. “It's fine, Steve... Just tense like you said.”

He lowers his head and gives the other man access to his neck. He sighs when Steve's unusually warm hands massage along his neck.

It's good. It's no surprise his dick starts to fill up and rise onto his thigh, but he isn't really aroused so much as luxuriating. He hums, letting his face relax as Steve's thumbs roll into his trapezius.

“You can... go closer to the arm,” he says, tilting his head toward his left arm, the metal one. Steve pauses for a moment, then continues, his hands moving out toward Bucky's shoulders.

Bucky is missing several muscle groups for the metal arm – most of them replaced by cables. He's almost certain Steve feels them under the skin because he lets out a soft disconcerted sound.

“That doesn't hurt?”

Bucky shakes his head. He's lying, of course it aches, but he's used to it by now. It just feels good to have Steve's thumbs working over the join between cables and real muscle so he's not going to complain. Good and weird. He isn't used to having people rub there.

Even Hydra – fortunately – didn't take much interest in rubbing his metal shoulder. In fact, he can't remember a single instance of any kind of 'therapy' applied to his shoulder muscles. Or anything that could remotely be considered therapeutic. It was more just 'vivisection and let's slap some artificial biotech in here, maybe another false metal rib to support this thing.'

He nearly groans, arching his back a little when Steve's arms wander downward.

“Sorry,” Steve pauses, chuckling and blushing fiercely. Bucky grins slightly and winks over his shoulder.

“It's fine.”

It causes Steve to laugh softly and Bucky can't help the smile that spreads over his lips.

“Thank you,” he says a few minutes later, feeling much more relaxed. His dick is more than a little annoyed at not getting any attention, but Bucky isn't going to bother with that.

He smiles halfway at his friend who looks pleased to have done something for him. Bucky nods.

“Thanks...”

Steve nods. “Um... do you need anything else?”

Bucky looks at him, really looks at his face, his hopeful but shy eyes, his broad shoulders and solid chest... Fuck.

Bucky scoots back, thinking 'What the hell.' He moves so that he's lying down on his side, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Come lie down?” He can't quite keep the 'come hither' out of his eyes. Steve's eyes widen and his blush spreads.

“Okay...” he smiles nervously. Then he's awkwardly climbing around, almost over Bucky who can't help it. He starts to laugh softly.

“Steve,” he giggles as the man moves around behind him. But then Steve is scooting up behind him and... oh.

It's nice and warm along his back – he can feel the heat radiating off of Steve who isn't quite lying up against him. He starts to turn, starts to offer Steve to lie on his other side, closer to his flesh arm. But then Steve gently places a hand on his metal arm and Bucky doesn't have the heart, looking into his eyes, to tell him to go move. Steve looks like a deer about to startle.

Bucky smiles and takes Steve's hand in his metal hand, then moves it down to his waist. It's a little awkward, but Steve leans back, giving room for his arm to move. It recalibrates, the plates open, letting out a 'whush' of air and Steve lets out a startled noise, then starts to laugh. Bucky grins.

“You like that, huh?” he jokes. “I got a muffler too, in my ass.”

Steve looks at him with wide eyes, then bursts out laughing.

“B-Bucky!”

“What?” he laughs. “It's my body. I can make fun of it.”

“Sure,” Steve is laughing and trying to muffle himself with his other hand but Bucky gently elbows him. His arm recalibrates again, startling Steve and now he's done it. Steve can't stop laughing.

He's nearly in tears a few moments later and Bucky just smiles at the sight.

He may have lost the battle, shit, lost the whole war, but he still has Steve. He still has this, smiling at this punk and making him laugh.

Why didn't he do this before? Why didn't he... Well there's been periods during his recovery where he'd share some memories with Steve or make him smile at some dirty joke, but...

He's been distracted. He sighs and lies down on the bed, pulling Steve's hand closer. Steve comes along willingly, his chuckling getting cut off with an 'Oh...'

And then he's scooting closer, spooning Bucky who's closing his eyes and thinking 'This, right here.'

This is perfect.

Steve scoots closer so his body isn't awkwardly tilting against Bucky's. He feels the other man's chest press against his back, all the heat spreading and Bucky just...

“Mm,” he shivers. Steve freezes.

“A...are you okay?” he starts to scoot back, but Bucky grips his hand tighter, not to hurt him, just to keep him there.

“I'm fine, you dork!” he says and then laughs softly. Steve huffs against his neck.

“Well, excuse me,” he says. Then a moment later, Bucky feels his other hand gently moving his hair back, brushing it away from his cheek and neck. Steve's breath is warm against his neck and ear and...

He breathes in slowly, relaxing into the other man on the exhale. He slowly releases Steve's hand, realizing he's still gripping it, and then Steve is gently rubbing his ribs.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs near Bucky's ear.

“This is beyond okay,” he responds softly. “This is... great.”

It feels so lame saying 'great,' but he just isn't feeling like getting sappy. He can practically hear Steve smile.

“I'm glad,” he says softly. Steve is breathing slowly in and out. Bucky listens, focusing on the sensation of his heart through his chest. He can practically hear it. Bucky has superior senses, but not like Steve's. Steve, he recalls, can hear someone's pulse if they're standing close enough. Or lying close enough.

He opens his eyes, looking at the wall. His phone is on the table in the living room. Fuck it.

Fuck Rollins. At least for now.

He smiles a little, feeling so relaxed already.

“Steve?”

“Hm?”

“Member... how I used to... You'd have an attack and...”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “You'd... hold me and help me breathe.”

Bucky smiles, eyes closing. He feels almost like he's floating, his whole body just slowly relaxing against Steve's – shoulders, arms, ribs, hips, legs, his neck.

He remembers holding Steve's skinny frame to him and it's like magic. He can feel the bony spine against his chest, the narrow hips slotting to fit his lap. His hand, trembling slightly until he presses it flat against a narrow chest and feels the breath pulsing there, trapped. Birdcage. That was always what Steve's ribs reminded him of – something delicate, sweet and precious. He breathes in slowly and takes Steve's large hand, presses it against his chest.

Steve pulls closer and his forehead presses against the back of Bucky's. His chest and diaphragm expand with Bucky's. They both exhale slowly together.

“Buck,” he murmurs.

“Stevie,” he responds, being selfish and just letting his flesh hand press Steve's against his chest.

It's so wrong but it's all he has.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, the chapter ended with snuggles! I will be posting another update soon since I know it's hard to wait through the angst :(


	5. Good Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rollins summons Bucky to come to his apartment. It's what Bucky's been fearing since this all started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sings* So much trash. Trashy trash trash! Trashy trashy trashy!   
> Okay, but really, I promise we've got like this chapter and then further down another chapter of trash and then it will be less trash and more class! 
> 
> Warnings/spoilers: Non con domination, no safewords, blackmail, forced cross dressing, misgendering, daddy kink, assault, butt plug, past traumas being aired and used to torment Bucky, gaslighting, psychological and verbal abuse. Just nothing good or happy in this chapter.

He's sitting in his room, reading. He woke up earlier while Steve was getting up from the bed and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. They'd ended up looking at each other, Bucky blinking sleepily up at him. Steve had merely smiled and announced that he was going to get dinner ready. They'd both fallen asleep and Bucky was surprised to realize he'd been knocked out for several hours. 

He lie in the nice warm bed before he ended up scrambling up to check his phone. 

Nothing. 

It's after dinner and he's reading a book he found on one of Steve's shelves, trying to forget his current situation - Rollins is giving him a day off? Fine. 

But of course Rollins was nice and left him alone today. Bucky's pleasant evening ends with a text before he goes to bed - 

"Come to my apartment tomorrow." 

The address is in the next text. Bucky feels a small rush at seeing it. He could go there now, spy on Rollins... 

No. Rollins is still watching the house and he'll know. There's no guarantee there aren't cameras outside the house or someone watching. Besides - what is Bucky going to do? Even if he sees who Rollins is working with, it won't make a difference. 

Rollins already has him in the bag. If he does anything, shows any sign of defiance, tries to fight Rollins or even take him out... There will be someone else to take care of things. There always is with Hydra. 

_'Cut off one head...'_

'Yeah, yeah,' he thinks miserably. He texts back. 

"Yes, daddy." 

He starts trying to read again when the third text appears. 

"Good boy." 

He rolls his eyes and wants to be sick. For a while, he sits staring at the words. He can't seem to finish reading the same sentence over and over again, so he closes the book and sets it aside. He tries to think of a way, any way he can find out if Rollins actually has a recording of the thing. 

Tomorrow. He'll find out tomorrow. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Rollins smiles at him as he opens the door. He's wearing a well fitting black henley and jeans. He has his hair pulled back as usual and Bucky feels disturbed at how handsome the man is. He gets a whiff of familiar aftershave then and he nearly wants to throw up when he feels his body's interest perk.

_'Handler, master, pleasure, pain.'_

“Come in,” he jerks his head, smiling slightly, like Bucky is an old friend.

The tv is on in the background – a basketball game. There's a beer opened on the coffee table. Rollins is even in sockfeet.

He steps in, listening under the sounds of the tv as well as he can to make sure there's no one hiding behind the door or in the small kitchen that he can see.

Rollins looks amused as he closes the door. Bucky is wearing jeans, a gray tee, and a black hoodie along with black tennis shoes.

“Look at you,” he whistles lowly. “Looking human.” He reaches up and touches Bucky's neck. He jerks away and Rollins holds his hands up.

“I don't think I need to remind you that if you don't behave or if something happens to me, that recording goes all over the internet?”

Bucky nods, his heart already racing. "I want to hear it first," he says. 

Rollins blinks in surprise. Then he smirks. 

“Shh,” Rollins reaches up and grabs a strand of hair, letting it slide slowly through his thumb and forefinger. His hand then brushes Bucky's hair away from his neck, fingers brushing against the skin along the nape.

“Look at that,” Rollins chuckles. “Silky hair...”

"I want to see it," Bucky snaps. 

The taller man gives him a warning look and then smiles.

“I want you to be a sweet boy and take off your jacket.”

Bucky swallows and slowly raises his hands to his jacket. He unzips it and lets it slide down his arms. Rollins eyes the metal arm and grins.

“There we go... Nice shirt.” He runs his palm over the gray tee, soft, smooth. “I like how soft it is.”

His eyes burrow into Bucky's. Bucky stares back, defiant.

“Mm,” Rollins steps closer. “You look good now. Nice and cleaned up.”

A thick hand lifts and cups Bucky's cheek. He hates his pulse for jumping in his neck.

The hand slides down the side of his neck, a caress. It causes the skin there to prickle and he looks down and away. Rollins's other hand is plucking lightly at the tee shirt, teasingly sliding a fingertip over the hemline near his collar.

“Good boy,” he murmurs. “Yeah.”

Bucky scoffs, eyes downward. He feels Rollins's hand slide through his hair, tucking it behind his ear and his face flushes.

“You're gonna be so pretty for me tonight,” Rollins licks his lips. He then steps away and sits down on the sofa, putting his feet up on the coffee table. He snaps his fingers and points to the floor by the tv.

“Stand there.”

Bucky obeys, clenching his hands into fists. He wouldn't have done that in the past – if he did he would be punished. He's lost more of his programming than he initially thought.

Rollins sips his beer, eyes on the screen. Then he looks at Bucky again as if he'd forgotten the other man was even there.

“Drop your pants.”

He unzips his fly with trembling fingers, fumbling with the button.

Rollins ignores him for a while, sipping his beer again and frowning at the game.

“Take your dick out.”

Bucky obeys again, pulling out his cock. He flushes when it hardens at his own light touch. Rollins glances and smirks.

“Go on. Play with it for me.”

He strokes himself with his flesh hand, keeping his eyes on the floor. Rollins ignores him for a while until Bucky feels himself getting close.

“Stop.”

He expected to be toyed with, so he does, trying not to roll his eyes. He supposes he should be glad it's pretty tame so far. Rollins gestures for him to come closer.

Bucky, pants around his knees, awkwardly shuffles over to the couch. He tries to ignore the sensation of his cock heavy and thick, bobbing.

Rollins pats the sofa space between his legs. He's in the corner of the sofa, against the arm. Bucky sits down slowly, scooting back when the other man instructs.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, pulling Bucky closer by his shoulders. He's tense at first, back to Rollins's chest. Then Rollins's hands are massaging his chest, brushing over his nipples, through his shirt. Bucky's teeth are clenched and his cheeks are burning hot. He feels stubble brush against his neck and shivers.

“Very good. I know you wanna come so bad,” Rollins thumps the head of his cock with a finger and the other man swallows, trying not to panic at the feel of the touch to his cock. He doesn't want another Hydra agent's fucking hands there. He promised himself he'd never let it happen again. He closes his eyes, mentally cursing himself.

'This is all your fault,' he thinks. 'You deserve this.'

“Baby's shaking 'cause he needs to come so bad,” Rollins's voice is a calm purr. “You need to come don't you?”

He breathes in deeply as the other man's hand grips the base of his dick, just holding it. One finger slides up the underside of the shaft. When he speaks again, his voice is ice.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” Rollins strokes it firmly, just once, and his hand rests at the base. “I've got a nice DVD for us to watch.”

Bucky's veins turn to ice.

'No. Please, no.'

Rollins lifts a remote and the game is cut off as the Wii switches to DVD. The DVD begins to play.

“Please, sir,” it's him staring up at the camera. “Please.”

His eyes are so empty and so, so desperate. Bucky's stomach twists.

“You know what I want to hear,” Rollins whispers in his ear on the sofa.

The person holding the camera chuckles. “You want it, huh? You're such a good slut for Hydra.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky says at the same time the soldier does on the DVD. Rollins smiles against his ear.

“Good boy,” he strokes firmly and Bucky clenches his teeth, trying to keep his hips still. “So good for me. Go on and say it.”

“Please... sir.”

“Very good,” Rollins strokes again, squeezing a little this time and Bucky's thighs tighten.

He's licking a fat cock on the DVD. Rollins snorts. It's Westfahl's cock. Ugh. Bucky wants to throw up.

“Yeah, let's speed this up,” Rollins lets out a laugh as he raises the remote again. He strokes Bucky slowly while the soldier's head bobs jerkily on screen. The fat cock comes all over the soldier's face and he licks his lips as the DVD returns to its normal speed.

“Look at that,” Rollins murmurs, squeezing the cock as his hand travels upward. Bucky gasps soundlessly, hips rising.

“Ah ah,” Rollins smacks his cock and he nearly whines. “We don't move unless instructed remember?”

Bucky nods, wishing he could melt into the floor. Rollins smacks his cock again, harder this time and he lets out a sob.

“Yes, sir,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Shh,” Rollins puts an arm over his chest, hauling him back. “Give me a sweet kiss, baby.”

Bucky turns his head slowly. He doesn't meet Rollins's eyes until a finger presses to his lips.

“That's right,” Rollins smiles. “Let me see those pretty baby blues.”

Bucky stares into his eyes, trying not to let his hate show as they kiss. Rollins stares back. He sucks Bucky's tongue, then bites it. Then he treats Bucky's lower lip the same way.

“Now you.”

Bucky swallows and gives Rollins the same treatment, making sure not to bite as hard as the other man did.

“You're almost human,” he says with a laugh. Bucky fights the heat in his face, in his eyes. It shouldn't hurt. His words shouldn't matter.

“Shh, don't be mad. You know you need this.”

Rollins is squeezing his dick again – slow, agonizing squeezes upward. Bucky shudders and he grins.

“You know why you get so hot like this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me.”

“I'm... I'm conditioned to like this.”

Rollins sighs and shakes his head. He slides his hand down and cups Bucky's sack.

“One more try.”

His eyes stare into Bucky's.

“I...” he tries to think. “I'm Hydra's slut.”

“Good boy,” Rollins smiles slowly, patting his sack. Bucky hates how it nearly makes him grind against Rollins's hand. “You're exactly right. You belong to us,” he leans in, nuzzling Bucky's nose. “So what are you doing with Rogers, hm?”

Bucky blinks and looks down at the coffee table.

“Say,” Rollins pats his sack again, then cups it gently with his fingers.

Bucky resists the urge to knock the man's hand away. He looks up, facing Rollins.

“He's my friend.”

Rollins snorts, closing his eyes and shaking his head. When he opens his eyes again, they're full of mockery.

“You're a whore. Whores don't have friends.”

Bucky swallows and stares back at him.

“Say it.”

He licks his lips then wishes he hadn't, because Rollins eyes his lips then meets his gaze with a smirk.

“I'm a whore.”

Rollins squeezes, not hard, but it causes Bucky to start and his face flushes.

“Sir.”

“I'm a whore, sir.”

“And...?”

“Whores don't have friends,” he manages, hating how right it feels. He is a whore. He's a traitor and he doesn't deserve Steve Rogers.

“Good boy,” Rollins pats his balls. “Now stand.”

He obeys, fighting a grimace at how sensitive he is. He could blow it just from Rollins breathing on his dick and God, if that isn't fucked up that he desperately wants that?

He pushes all thought from his mind. Submit. Submit and let Rollins play his game and go home.

“Strip.”

He pushes the pants off, toeing out of his socks too. He pulls the shirt up over his head.

Rollins leads him to the bathroom, leaving the DVD playing. The soldier is moaning and whimpering, bouncing on someone's cock while his own is hard, almost purple with need. Bucky doesn't think about it as he enters the bathroom, shaking slightly.

“Get in.”

He steps into the bathtub and sits.

Rollins plugs the tub and runs a bath – warm, hot even. After he sits down on the side of the bath tub, bubbles are added – pink and girly bubble solution. He gives Rollins a puzzled glance.

“You've been so good you get a nice, warm bath,” his voice is the same soft croon. Bucky doesn't jerk away as his hand slides into the water and fondles his cock. Then his fingers slide up his belly, tickle over his ribs until they reach his nipple.

Rollins teases it, brushing a fingertip over it first, then plucking at it. Bucky can't look at him. He can't.

'Please stop, please.'

He stares ahead, not looking.

“You fuck Rogers yet?”

He blinks at the question, slowly looking up.

“No,” he says, staring back at Rollins who makes a mock sad face and pinches his nipple.

“What was that?”

“N-No, sir.”

Rollins circles his nipple with a fingertip, soothingly. “Why not? You don't want his tight little All American ass?”

“He's not...” Bucky stops himself. Rollins laughs.

“He's not tight?”

“He's not...”

“Not what?” Rollins slides his hand up to grip Bucky's chin. “Not into you? I know that's some fucking bullshit. You two got all hot and heavy kissing the other night.”

Bucky manages not to glare.

“Shh, be good,” Rollins releases his chin, then splashes water in his face. He closes his eyes in time, then slowly opens them. Rollins is placing a pink can and a bright pink women's razor on the rim of the tub.

“Only place I want hair is your head,” he shoves the side of Bucky's head with a finger. “That means I want those legs, ass, armpits, pussy _peach smooth_. You get me, baby?”

He strokes Bucky's cheek and his stomach roils.

“Yes, sir.”

“Daddy.”

'Oh for fuck's sake,' Bucky clenches his teeth.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl.” Rollins chuckles, standing up and strolling out of the bathroom. “I'll have your clothes laid out on the bed for you, baby.”

Bucky briefly fantasizes about drowning Rollins in his bath water. Then he picks up the razor. He stops, glancing to the pink can.

He starts with his leg hair. He supposes that this isn't as bad as other things he can remember. But he can't think too long about those things or he feels panic. He never had a warm bath under Hydra that he remembers. Certainly not with girly bubbles either.

But that's what Rolins is doing. Giving him all new nightmares.

He forces himself to focus on the task at hand. He shaves everything except his arm. He isn't sure if Rollins meant that too? Should he do it to be safe? He rolls his eyes.

He is not shaving his fucking arm and if Rollins says a damn thing about his arm, Bucky will break the fucking razor handle, consequences be damned, and jamn the sharp end into Rollins's fucking trachea.

He pictures showing up back home covered in blood and having to tell Steve the truth.

“Daddy?” he calls.

There's silence for a moment, then he steps back down the hallway. Rollins leans in the doorway like it's just another Tuesday night.

“Yeah, baby?”

He already feels stupid so he keeps his eyes on the floor. “Do you want me to shave my arm?”

Rollins smirks.

“What did I say, baby?”

“You said the only place you want hair is on my head.”

“There you go.” Rollins says and is about to walk away when he stops, smirking at Bucky's chest. “Shave those tits too.” Then he walks away.

'Fucking assshole.'

Rolling his eyes, Bucky shaves his arm and chest as quickly as he can. He finally climbs out of the tub full of bubbles and body hair and dries off, setting the razor on the side of the tub.

He walks down the hallway, shivering slightly in the cool air. His dick and balls are extra sensitive now that there's no hair on him and he tries to ignore his frustration.

“Good girl,” Rollins croons when he steps into the bedroom. Rollins is sitting on a swivel chair at a computer desk. Bucky looks down on the queen size bed and sees a hot pink dress laid out. Oh _fuck_ no.

“Is it pretty? Do you like it, sweetheart?”

He nods, his eyes falling to the carpet.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Come sit on Daddy's lap.”

He obeys, barely sitting on Rollins's knee. The other man smirks and puts a hand around his waist, hauling him closer.

“Hands on the desk.”

He obeys. That's when he sees the bottle of nail polish – bright pink. Bucky nearly jumps when he feels Rollins's firm hand on his cock again, stroking it back to life.

He trembles as he feels himself getting excited again. Rollins holds his palm up in Bucky's face after a few moments and he licks the precum from it, his face heating.

“Good girl. Now we're gonna polish your nails.”

Rollins actually opens the bottle and starts to carefully polish each nail, finger by finger. Bucky has a tendency of gnawing off his fingernails so they're short at least. Rollins makes 'tsk' noises.

“You shouldn't bite your nails, baby.” He leans in and breathes against Bucky's ear. “I want my pretty girl to have long nails.”

“Yes, daddy.”

Is this what Rollins is doing? Is Rollins...

Oh god, is the man going to make him wear this shit _home?_

He swallows.

'This is your fault. You deserve this. You deserve to be humiliated.'

He just wishes his cock wasn't getting hard at the thought.

“I see that. My dirty girl gets so excited. Don't worry. You're gonna get plenty of dick tonight.”

Bucky stiffens.

“Oh don't worry,” Rollins laughs after a few moments. “It's just me and you tonight, baby.”

Tonight. That means...

He closes his eyes. No, no, no.

“Mm, I can't wait to have my pretty girl all dressed up for me. There we go.” Rollins closes the nail polish and sets it aside. Then he turns Bucky's face toward him with a hand, brushing his fingers over his captive's cheek.

“Time for makeup.”

Rollins slides the drawer of the desk open and pulls out several things; a tube of lipstick – hot pink, of course – chapstick, black eyeliner, eyeshadow, and mascara.

Bucky fights the rage slowly building inside of him.

'This is your fault.'

He lets Rollins apply the chapstick, the man clasping his chin almost delicately in one hand as he works. Rollins's wintry eyes regard his face with focus, a crease between his brows. Then he smirks.

“I never got to make you so pretty in the past.” He tilts his head as he eyes Bucky. “You remember the time you wore a pretty dress for Christmas?”

He nods, swallowing. They put some ridiculous bright red slip of a dress on him and he sat in Pierce's lap at a party, everyone laughing and cheering around them. He drank champagne from a glass held in Pierce's hand, then danced in his lap. They even put heels and makeup on him.

Rollins smirks. “I wanted to bend you over right then. But Pierce had you that night, didn't he?”

Bucky nods, staring down at the desk. Rollins's knuckles brush over his cheek.

“But now you're mine. You're my sexy girl.”

His hand cups the back of Bucky's head and presses him closer. Bucky allows Rollins to lead him in a hungry kiss.

“Mm... Fuck. Never had anybody so well trained.” Then Rollins slaps his ass. “Up!”

Bucky stands.

“Go put your panties and your bra on. Then I want you to put that dress on. Stockings too.”

There is a white bra and panties on the bed too, almost ironic with the black stockings. The bra and panties look innocent – like something a teenage girl would wear for her boyfriend. He slips into the clothes without thinking. The dress barely reaches mid thighs on him and he knows if he were to bend over, his panties would be visible. Naturally, Rollins orders him to bend over and inspects, rubbing and squeezing his ass.

“Fuck,” Rollins whistles as his fingers gently tug and picked at the border of the panties under his cheeks. “You really did shave everywhere. Good girl,” his ass is patted again.

He's turned by the shoulder and then Rollins is invading his space, hands on his waist. Bucky is guided to look up at him and receives another kiss.

“That's right,” Rollins purrs in the midst of the kisss. “Show your appreciation for daddy getting you all pretty.”

Bucky returns the kiss, despite the churning of his gut. He fantasizes about chewing Rollins's jaw off like some kind of rabid animal, then beating him to death with it. Or just watching him bleed out. That might be nice too.

Rollins grabs his ass and squeezes, grinding against him. Bucky shivers and hates his body for being so desperate for more.

Then he's shoved backward onto the bed.

“Calm down,” Rollins chuckles. “Look at you. Fuck... Lips like sin.” The man stands over him, eyeing him for a few moments. Bucky looks away.

“Come on pretty girl, let's go back to the living room.”

He allows Rollins to take his hand and haul him up, then lead him back down the hall. Rollins motions for him to sit on the couch so he does. He tries not to look at the screen. The Asset is lying on his stomach over a metal table and his ass is gaping, stretched wide open with a metal ring. He's gagged, cuffed, and whimpering behind the gag.

“Mm, fuck.” Rollins whistles at the sight, then feels around below the coffee table. He sets a pair of heels on top of it in front of Bucky. They are hot pink stilettos and somehow in Bucky's size.

He stares at them.

“What's wrong, baby? You don't like the shoes daddy got you?”

Bucky looks up at him and nods.

“Yes, daddy.”

Rollins looks disgusted. “Don't fucking lie to me.”

The other man is standing on the other side of the coffee table in front of him, glaring directly down.

“If you like them why aren't you smiling?”

Bucky forces a smile. “I'm sorry, daddy. I really like them. They're pretty.”

Rollins snorts.

“Put 'em on then, silly.”

He moves to sit down next to Bucky, stretching his arms out and resting them on the back of the sofa.

Bucky grasps the first heel and lifts his foot, slipping it on. He has to fumble with it for a moment, fastening it. Then he slips on the next one.

He feels like a freak, like some kind of grotesque clown with his metal arm and his hot pink dress and makeup.

“Good girl,” Rollins pets his hair. “Let's see... I know.” He picks up the remote and aims it toward the tv. For a second, Bucky thinks he's going to turn it off and feels almost relieved. Then he realizes Rollins is moving forward, to a different chapter.

He has a whole fucking DVD of the shit they've done to Bucky.

There's a crowd in a darkened room, holding champagne glasses. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, then opens them again. There he is, stepping into the room and they're cheering at him. There is the fucking giant Christmas tree in the background. He's wearing the red dress. People in the crowd have ugly Christmas sweaters on.

The Asset is blinking in puzzlement, eyes wide and almost raccoon like with all the fucking makeup he's wearing. He doesn't smile as the people in the room cheer at him. But he does look... hopeful.

Bucky looks away, his chest aching. He tries to blink against the heat in his eyes.

When he looks up again, the Asset is in Pierce's lap, smiling for him. Smiling because he knows he's expected to. Then Pierce is talking, making a joke about 'Winter's chill' and the others are laughing. In the video, Bucky's metal arm is covered in some fuzzy red sleeve and glove. Bucky's heart twists at the sound of Pierce's voice. He hoped never to hear Pierce again-

“Yeah, I know,” Rollins murmurs, petting his hair. “It's okay, baby. He's gone.”

Bucky stiffens as he feels a broad hand grip his shoulder and haul him closer.

“You're mine now,” Rollins murmurs into his ear. Then their lips are pressed together again.

He hears Rollins's fly unzip and knows what's expected. He gets down on his knees as the man spreads his legs. Then he takes Rollins in his mouth.

“Good girl,” Rollins is saying as the people onscreen begin to sing 'Holly Jolly Christmas.'

Rollins's hand is in his hair, holding it up and Bucky is trying to fight the moisture in his eyes. He gags as Rollins shoves his head down for a moment and holds it there. The man grunts, then pulls Bucky's head back by the hair.

“Yeah. You're hard again, aren't you?” Rollins moves a foot between his legs and presses up against his groin. Bucky hisses.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Keep sucking. Maybe daddy will fuck you, hm?”

His head is pushed back down and he takes Rollins willingly into his mouth. Something about sucking him just makes Bucky's own cock throb, maybe in sympathy.

“Mm, fuck. I was watching you that night...” Rollins is saying, fingers sliding under his dress and tugging at one of his nipples, tweaking it. “Watching him pour that champagne in your mouth. Yeah... you just drank it all up, didn't you baby?”

“Mm hmm,” he answered, feeling sick at the memory.

“Fuck, I was so jealous... Brock promised me one day I'd get to dress you up like this.”

Something cold slides down his spine which already feels like a wild animal wanting to wriggle out of his body and escape. Bucky continues to suck him off, hoping if he comes already he'll shut up.

His hand brushes through Bucky's hair. No such luck.

“Don't worry,” Rollins smirks. “He's doing _great._ ”

No. No no no no...

“Maybe you'll even get to see him soon?” His hair is gripped and his head is tugged back so that he has to look up at Rollins. “You'd like that wouldn't you, baby?”

Bucky forces another smile even though his face feels like ice. “Yes, daddy.”

Rollins chuckles. Then he pushes Bucky's face back down to his cock and the metal armed man continues sucking. His hands are gripping the sofa on either side of Rollins's knees.

The music in the video has changed to something else with a pumping beat.

“Yeah, get up there!” Pierce shouts. Bucky can already remember what happened next that night – he got up on the table and stripped. He even remembers what he was wearing; red lacy thong and stockings. They threw dollar bills at him or tucked them into his hose and slapped his ass while Pierce laughed. He remembers hands grabbing at him, hands everywhere as he danced.

“Fuck yeah...” Rollins thrusts, cock head ramming at the back of his throat and Bucky gags. Amazing, he would have thought he didn't even have a gag reflex anymore...

His head is hauled back and he gets a light slap across his face.

“You've been such a good, nasty girl. You wanna come, baby?” Rollins leans forward, the thumb of his free hand brushing over Bucky's lower lip.

Bucky looks up at him. He nods.

“Please, daddy.”

Rollins grins.

“Okay baby,” he leans back against the couch, releasing Bucky's hair and stroking his cheek as he does. “You know what you gotta do.”

Rollins pushes his pants down all the way to his ankles, then relaxes again, patting his thighs.

Bucky takes the cue and climbs up, straddling him.

“Ah ah. Turn around. Daddy wants to watch the tv.”

Bucky gets up again. He turns, then pushes his panties down. Then he sits backward slowly.

“Your ass is all dry,” Rollins presses a finger harshly into him and he clenches his teeth. “Why don't you lube up, huh?”

There's a small bottle of lubricant on the table. Bucky takes it and rests his knee on the coffee table as he begins to open himself with a shaking flesh hand.

“Good girl. Use the other hand, hold yourself open so daddy can see.”

He grasps his cheek with his metal hand and sets his other knee on the table, bending forward slightly so that Rollins can have a view.

“Very nice,” the man laughs and claps his hands. “Such a good girl. You're still Hydra's little slut, aren't you?”

“Yes, daddy,” he gasps. His cock is rigid and he clenches his teeth, wishing he could just die right then and there.

“Good girl. Now come sit on daddy's dick.”

He isn't quite open wide enough yet and he's trembling, but he spreads his legs and slides his skirt up. The black stockings go up to his thighs and he knows he must look ridiculous. Rollins's legs are between his as he slowly lowers himself. Then he feels a blunt cock head lining up with his ass as he looks up at the screen, trying to breathe and not panic.

There he is, sans Christmas dress, on his hands and knees on the floor, mouth wide open and tongue out as Pierce jerks off on his tongue. He looks down, his eyes watering as his ass is stretched.

“Shh, shh... good girl. There we go. Mm, fuck. Still so tight,” Rollins laughs as he slowly slides down onto the other man's cock. His ass burns like fire and his eyes are watering.

Then his hips are in Rollins's firm grip and he's being yanked down as the other man thrusts up.

He cries out as he falls back and seats fully on the other man's cock. Rollins groans.

The agent is not gentle with him. He rocks his hips, starting out slowly at first, but quickly growing faster.

“Come on. Bounce. That's a good girl. Fuck yeah, bounce for me!”

The worst part is the way his body just gets even more stimulated by the pain of the stretch. The rock of his hips is becoming instinctual, natural, desperate.

At the same time, his back is tight and he's trying not to take any of this in, trying not to remember a thousand other nights where he-

 _bouncing on the lap of a man laughing and grunting, on another sofa while something played on the tv in Russian_ -

 _Rumlow lying back, hands behind his head while the asset blows him_ -

_\- some embassador, a target, grunting while gripping his hips tightly and pistoning in and out of him. The assset must endure this before the poison the embassador drank in the wine takes effect-_

pleasured handlers, agents, targets, techs, anyone who wanted a piece of him and had access to him.

He's trying to concentrate on obeying and ignoring the groans from Rollins behind him and the cheers on the screen when he notices the camera propped up below the tv. He stares at it with widening eyes as Rollins grabs his cock and begans to stroke him.

“Yeah. Yeah that's right. You wanna come, baby? You wanna come? Tell me. Tell daddy.”

“Yes,” he lets out a sob. “Yes, please, Daddy.”

Rollins begins to ram against his prostate and Bucky howls as he gets closer. Between the cock head pressing against his prostate and the fist around his own dick, he can't contain himself anymore. He bounces, teeth clenching, and feels himself coming apart.

“Yeah, baby. Come for me. Come on. Come on you little slut, come!”

Naturally, he obeys, eyes shut tight. His come spurts out, onto the coffee table.

“Mm, fuck yes,” Rollins laughs. “What do you say, baby? What do you say?”

“Th-thank you, daddy.” He wants to sink into the floor. He hasn't come for a week, a week of Rollins teasing and frustrating him through text messages. His body feels loose, his legs weak.

“Who else do you thank?”

He opens his eyes and looks at the camera, then glances away. He lowers his head, wanting to hide.

“Thank you, Hydra.”

“That's right,” Rollins laughs again. He shoves Bucky forward, a hand on the back of his neck. Rollins's other hand tightens on his hips and his thrusts become brutal. “That's right. Now daddy's gonna get his. Fuck!”

Rollins finally comes a few minutes later, when Bucky's neck and back are aching and he's pretty sure he won't be able to sit for a week.

“Ahh, ahh, fuck...” Rollins sighs. Then he hums in pleasure and his hands push Bucky up, guiding him onto the table. “Just like that. Keep my cum in, baby. Good girl. Here we go... This should help.”

He wants to scream when he feels a plug – a thick one – pressed into his ass.

“There we go. Now you've got a nice princess plug. That's gonna keep all my cum inside until you see me again. You got me, baby?” He grabs Bucky's hair and hauls his head back again. “You hear me?”

“Yes, daddy,” he gasps. He's covered in sweat and he feels disgusting. His legs are shaking.

“Good girl. Now clean off my coffee table. You got it all fucking sticky.”

Some of the cum is on his knees, sticking to him through the hose. He feels sick as he gets down and licks his own cooled cum from the table. He glances up and sees the camera there – still rolling. It's propped up on a stool. It wasn't there before – before the bath. Rollins probably set it up while he was in there, shaving.

Self loathing crashes over him, but he can't fall apart yet. He begins to wonder if Rollins is ever going to let him go home – no, no, don't think that – or if Rollins will make him stay the night.

“Hand me that beer.”

He obeys and Rollins takes a sip of it. He switches the tv back to the basketball game, then waves a hand dismissively at Bucky as he sets the bottle back down on the coffee table.

“You can go now. Keep my plug in, okay baby?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“And put your panties back on.”

He obeys, shuddering. Bucky turns to look for his clothes but doesn't see them. He didn't bring a wallet, but he did bring his house keys. Rollins holds them up, along with his phone.

“Looking for these?”

How did he not fucking notice where Rollins got those? He's really losing it...

His face flushing, he avoids looking at the other man as he reaches to take his things. Rollins jerks them away.

“Ah ah. Give daddy a kiss goodnight.”

Bucky leans in as the other man smirks and Rollins gives him a kiss full of tongue, biting his lower lip at the end. His hand pats Bucky's ass.

“That's my girl,” he smirks. “You're gonna wear that sexy outfit all the way home, feel daddy's come inside your belly. You're gonna sleep with that plug in too. You got that?”

He nods and takes his things with shaking hands. Then he steps away and turns, heading quickly toward the door.

“What was that?”

He freezes at the tone, then turns to look.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Repeat what I said.”

He fights the urge to shout 'fuck you' and nods.

“I'm gonna wear this outfit home. I'm... I'm gonna sleep with the plug in.”

“That's right. Keep my cum inside, baby.”

“Yes, daddy.” He turns and yanks on the doorknob, finding the door locked. He nearly drops his things as he tries to get the door open. He finally gets the door unlocked and yanks it open.

Rollins clears his throat and Bucky looks up, holding the door open. 

"I'll send it to you," he says with a smirk. "Just text me when you get home. Gotta make sure my baby gets home safe." 

Bucky nods woodenly. 

"Yes, daddy." 

He steps through the door and pulls it shut behind him. For a moment, his heart pounds and he tries to sort himself out, tries to think. He left his clothes. 

They don't matter. Trying not to think about the walk home, he hurries down the stairs, moving as quickly as he can without falling in the heels.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was horrible! Yaaay! I sometimes do a palate cleanser after reading trash or angst where I read a happier, snugglier fic. So I'm gonna post one more chapter today with some comfort elements.


	6. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's survived his first night at Rollins's mercy but he's not out of the woods yet. Steve notices that something's wrong and wants to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derp. I mentioned last update that I was gonna post some 'comfort' part too but I forgot. Herp derp. Anyway here you go. It's not very comforting but it's not as horrible as the trash was last chapter.   
> I'll post another chapter soon. 
> 
> Warnings: Self loathing, guilt, PTSD, and harassment.

 

His feet are sore by the time he gets home. Fortunately it's dark so only a few people see him. Some of them stare and laugh. One man tries to talk to him and Bucky turns to glare at him until the guy fucks off.

“Not my fault you dressed like a fuckin slut,” the guy calls as he hurries away from Bucky's murderous look.

He tries not to think about the plug stretching his ass. About how it already hurts. About Pierce laughing and wearing a fucking Santa hat. About people cheering in a darkened room while Christmas lights twinkle in the background and he's on his knees. About hands everywhere and cocks and cum in his face and hair.

Bucky ignores the ache in his chest and the rawness of his feet as he crosses the street. He gets home and feels the smallest shiver of relief.

'You deserve this.'

He opens the door and steps inside. Then he freezes, eyes widening.

He supposes he should be glad that Sam isn't there for whatever reason.

But Steve is and he's sitting on the sofa, looking up at Bucky with widening eyes. The light is on in the living room and the tv is off. The silence is heavy as Steve stares at him.

His eyes are full of concern and confusion as he stands.

'No, no, God, please not this-'

His face is hot as he looks down and away. 'Okay, fine make up shit. Make up something.'

He forces a weak smile. He thinks about the fucking camera above him – cameras everywhere, all the time now and he can't fucking escape them – and Rollins maybe watching and laughing.

“Hey,” he forces a chuckle. It sounds hysterical. Steve's eyebrows are steepled in concern.

“Bucky? What are you wearing?”

He shrugs. “Went to a club.”

'Yeah, I went to a club dressed like a twenty first century slut. No big deal. The Winter Soldier goes to fucking clubs all the time, right?'

He tries to step into the room, past Steve, and his friend reaches out to grasp his wrist. Bucky halts, tensing like a deer in headlights.

“Buck... Buck you're freezing!” Steve grabs the throw blanket from the couch and steps forward, wrapping it around his shoulders. He wants to laugh. He wants to scream and throw the blanket away.

He likes this blanket. It's his blanket that Natasha got him, something to make him feel comfortable and safe. The scent rolling off of it is Steve.

His stomach twists and his eyes are wet.

“Thanks,” he says after a moment. “I'm fine. Just... gonna take a shower,” he rambles quickly, letting the blanket fall as he hurries away from Steve and down the hall to the bedrooms.

“Buck, wait! Bucky!”

He tries not to hear Jack Rollins's mocking voice, ' _Buck_.'

 

He gets to his bathroom and closes the door. He manages to turn on the fan before he starts to gag and hurl.

He thankfully makes it to the toilet.

Bucky quickly flushes it, even as he's still throwing up, hoping to cover the sound as best he can. He rinses his mouth out then grabs his tooth brush with a shaking hand and begins to brush his teeth. After a few minutes of furious scrubbing, he stops and looks in the mirror.

He stares at himself for a moment, then spits in the sink and rinses his mouth out with water. He then uses mouthwash.

Bucky washes his face, tries to rub off all the makeup. He needs vaseline or something, really...

No, he can't think about vaseline right now. The thought of it makes him feel sick.

His skin itches. He fumbles out of the dress, the panties, the bra.

Steve is knocking on the door.

“No,” Bucky tells him. “Steve, please, just... just go away right now okay?”

“Buck...”

“Steve-”

“At least tell me why you're... Where were you?”

“I... I went to a club.”

“But... dressed like that?” His voice is soft, gentled, as if he doesn't want to offend Bucky. It would be hilarious but...

Bucky rubs at his face some more, splashing water over it. The water is cool and comforting, even if his arms and legs are cold from his walk home. He slips out of the heels, relieved to have them off his aching feet. Next come the hose...

He freezes after that, thinking about the plug between his legs. It hurts. He's sore and raw and he wants the plug out of him – and Rollins's cum.

His stomach twists and he spits in the sink. Then he drinks from the faucet.

When he feels more calm and doesn't hear Steve outside of his bathroom, he runs the shower, as hot as he can get it.

He shivers under the hot water, rubbing soap all over his body. Shampoo in his hair too. His hands fumble to wash his hair as fast as he can. He doesn't want to feel Jack Rollins's hands on him. On his body. Rollins's lips on his lips and the man's stubble on his skin...

He chokes.

The water is almost burning but he doesn't care. He winces at the sores on his feet.

He hates himself. He hates himself so fucking strongly he can't even breathe. He glares down at his feet.

“You deserve this,” he sobs under the water through clenching teeth. “You deserve this, you fucking piece of shit. You're so soft. You've gotten so fucking soft.”

He was so stupid to think he could ever escape Hydra.

When he finally gets out of the shower, he pulls his large fluffy towel around his body. Soft, fluffy towels and blankets. Sweatpants. What the hell is wrong with him?

Recovery. He will never _recover_ from anything and he doesn't deserve to.

He dries his hair off with the towel, fumbling. Then, the towel wrapped around his hips, he opens the door. His room is empty.

Relieved, he turns on the light and spots his phone on the bed where he threw it. He picks it up and sees two text messages.

For a few moments he stares at the phone screen. Then he slides the green speech bubbles over to the puzzle piece to unlock it.

“Hey baby,” the first reads. The second says “You get home safe, sexy girl?”

His hand clenches on the phone and he ironically has to transfer it to his metal hand before he crushes it. Glancing to his bedroom door to make sure it's closed, he begins to text a response.

“Yes,” he hesitates, then types “daddy.”

He waits, knowing he'll have another message. Then he tosses the phone onto the bed and curses under his breath. He goes to his dresser, yanking out a pair of sweatpants. He doesn't think he can tolerate wearing briefs with the plug in him.

The phone vibrates on the bed so he picks it up. There's another message. Swallowing his tired irritation, he opens it.

“Show me.”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. Then he slides his sweatpants down. Glancing toward the door and listening intently, he climbs onto the bed and takes a picture of his asshole, legs spread, the plug still sticking out of it.

He looks at it and his face colors in humiliation when he realizes the plug is hot pink too. 

'No, no, stop getting hard. Stop!'

He swallows his shame, hands and body shaking as he texts the picture back. He hears Steve knock at his door and nearly drops the phone, fumbling and yanking his sweatpants back up as he stands.

“Yeah?”

Steve opens the door slowly.

“Hey.” His brows are still knit together, concern evident in his blue eyes. It hurts looking at him.

“Hey,” his lips stretch at the corners in an attempt at smiling. It's all cool. All good.

“Buck... what kind of-”

The phone vibrates. His eyes widen slightly, then he looks down.

“Just a sec,” he mumbles and picks up the phone. He sees the new message, but sets it down and looks up at Steve. For a moment, his lips work to form words.

Now Steve's eyes are narrowing slightly.

“Did you... meet someone?” There's almost a tone of accusation and his heart aches, twinges, as he thinks of the kiss they shared on the sofa – shy and full of yearning.

Unlike Rollins, licking around in his mouth and sucking his tongue.

He swallows.

'You deserve this.'

'But _he_ doesn't.' Steve deserves so much better than this.

He nods. “Y-yeah.”

It's the best thing to do, he thinks. Steve can be free this way.

“I'm sorry,” he says when Steve stares at him. He pretends not to see the hurt that flashes there. Then Steve's lips stretch a little at the corners. He nods.

“It's okay, Buck. I... I'm sorry if I pushed you-”

“No!” He holds up his hands. “You didn't.” He forces a smile. “It's okay, Steve. I... I liked it. I just...”

“I know, Buck,” he says, his eyes sympathetic. He's trying so hard to be nice, to not show how hurt he is. “You need to... meet people and... see how you feel. It's okay.”

Bucky is going to burn in hell, he is. There's no doubt about it. He blinks, hard.

“I just worried because... you were home late and I didn't text because I didn't want to bother you-”

Bucky shakes his head. “You're not. You're never bothering me, Steve.”

Steve smiles a little, just the quirk of his lips. “Your hair is wet,” he says. “Are you cold?”

Bucky shrugs a shoulder.

“I'll turn up the heat,” he says, then as he's about to go, he stops. “It's okay Buck... if you want to dress like that, I mean. You can dress however you want. I didn't mean to-”

“Steve,” he smiles, unable to help himself, his eyes closing for a moment. He swallows as he opens them. “It's okay.”

“Did everything go okay? At the club?”

Bucky nods, smiling a little. It's nice to pretend, to imagine that he was actually in a club. “Met this guy. He uh. We kissed. But...” He looks up at Steve. “I... I'm sorry-”

“No, no,” Steve waves his hands. “It's okay, Buck. Really. I want you to feel free to-”

He's supposed to tell Steve he found someone. That he's got somebody else now. Not that Rollins told him to – Bucky's supposed to keep Steve safe from this. Away from it all, somehow-

But he steps forward and wraps his arms around Steve's waist.

For a moment, he's tense, embarrassed because his hair is wet. On top of that, the feeling of Steve's warm, broad chest is almost too much after having Rollins's hands all over his body. He feels almost sick doing this, guilty. But the comfort Steve's arms offer is too much.

Steve holds him back, gently rubbing his hand over Bucky's back. His hand stays near the upper part of his back. That's Steve, though – always concerned about pushing Bucky's limits.

His eyes well up and he swallows against it, closing his eyes tightly. He's relieved that Steve can't see his face right now.

He lets himself be squeezed gently by his friend.

“You're cold, Buck. You should put on a shirt,” Steve's gentle voice in his ear.

He slowly releases Steve, giving him a forced smile.

“Sure.” He turns away quickly and fumbles through his dresser, finding a shirt and pulling it over his head. He feels much better with one on, actually. The phone vibrates again and he clenches his teeth. For a moment, he fears Steve picking it up. But the other man doesn't.

When he turns to look, Steve just smiles at him from the door, his eyes still a little sad, then turns and heads down the hall. Bucky takes the phone and looks at it, fury simmering in his heart. 

'This is all your fault,' he thinks. 'You deserve this.' He opens the text messages.

“Very nice,” the text he'd gotten earlier reads. The newest one is a smiling icon with heart eyes.

And suddenly he knows what Rollins is doing. That's what the camera was for. What the terms of endearment are for.

So that if the time comes, there will be no way anyone will believe Bucky was blackmailed. All they'll have to do is watch the video, watch him bouncing willingly on Rollins's lap. Hear him pleading for it. Watch him come undone.

Shaking he puts the phone down on the night table, then climbs onto the bed. He pulls the blankets around him, trying to warm himself.

He's home. He's here now and-

The phone vibrates again and he swallows. He reaches out and grabs the phone.

A text shows up on the phone's screen and he opens it.

“Here you go, sexy.”

There is a file attached appears and he stares at it. Just a little icon and a link, so harmless. He breathes in deeply.

He quickly lowers the volume on his phone, then pressses the link. He watches it download onto his phone. Just like that – a file that can destroy his life completely, so easily downloaded anywhere at any time. Of course it's digital now.

He holds the phone close to his ear as it begins to play. It's old, crackling radio.

He can already remember it, already remember the sensation of the cold and the snow on the ground as he stood, shivering in the dark of the forest, away from camp so they wouldn't hear...

He listens and then stops it because he can't stand the sound of his own voice. Not now.

“Goodnight, princess,” the final text of the night reads. “Don't touch yourself.”

He doesn't text a response.

 

 


	7. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky returns to Rollins's apartment but this time he's not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Humiliation, verbal abuse, physical abuse, assault, forced feminization, misgendering, assault being filmed, blackmail, orgasm delay/denial.

Five days slowly crawl by. His 'new man' texts him, but never on a regular schedule. Some days he texts every few hours. Sometimes he'll text several times in one hour and Bucky fumbles and turns the vibrating notification on his phone off.

The plug inside him starts vibrating on the second day. He nearly shouts when it does.

He gets a text with a smiley face.

'That feel good, baby? I like to pleasure my girl.'

He clenches his teeth. He grips the side of his bed where he's sitting. The camera is still in the living room and he can't stand sitting there. Rollins ordered him to the day before. He had to sit there for nearly two hours stroking himself on and off.

He hasn't been allowed to come, of course. He has to beg to even take the fucking plug out so he can shit.

He's moody and more emotional and Steve can tell. But he doesn't lash out at Steve. Because it isn't Steve's fault.

It's his.

He's trying to eat dinner – salad along with chicken and vegetables – when the vibrator keeps shutting on and off, speeding up or slowing down. He sets his fork down. Steve and Sam are chatting and they notice.

“What is it, man?” Sam gently prods. Bucky shakes his head.

He gets up and hurries away from the table.

“Buck!” Steve calls after him softly. “Buck, please, what's wrong-”

He slams the door to the bathroom behind him. So he can ignore the sound of Sam gently explaining to Steve that Bucky just needs to be left alone.

He grips the counter in the bathroom and fights the tears that want to surface. He just wants to eat, to sleep, to piss, to be able to shit without having to ask permission.

He looks up into the mirror.

'You deserve this. You're a slut. You like this anyway. You do.'

His cock is hard, has been hard on and off. He's sick of the sensation in it, the need, the way his sack is heavy. He wants to just cut it all off.

He breaks into quiet, rushed sobs, flicking the fan in the bathroom on so that maybe they won't hear.

 

* * *

 

 

On the fifth day after his first 'date' with Rollins, he gets a text with orders.

'You've been such a good girl this week. Show me your pretty pussy.'

He goes to his room and takes a picture of his cock. It's slightly red from being stroked that morning and once again, left hanging. He texts the picture to Rollins.

'Yes, daddy.'

'Good girl. That's how daddy always wants his girl.'

Always. He doesn't think he can take much more of this. For a hysterical moment he wonders if this was Rollins's plan all along – to push him into being so desperate he would crack and tell Steve himself. He will. He has to. But he's not doing it for fucking Rollins's entertainment.

'Get nice and prettied up in your dress and come see daddy. Make sure you're nice and smooth.'

He rolls his eyes and curses himself. He knew it was coming – Rollins would make him show up again. He'll never get out of this. Not easily.

'You could murder him. You could kill him and then search his apartment for any evidence. Hunt down whoever he's with.'

He contemplates pretending to return to Hydra. Playing with Rollins. Maybe begging to be his girl forever. Play sweet, get him to open his mouth.

No, he'll see it as an act. He'll know. Rollins is a dick but he's not stupid.

They'll know that he won't return until he breaks. That's what this is all about. This isn't just Rollins. This is a concerted effort. They're going to dangle him above the fire and then they'll drop him in when he's ready.

'You have to tell Steve. It's the only way this ends.'

'I can't tell Steve. It will fucking break him.'

'He's stronger than that. You're just afraid of him hating you.'

He swallows. Steve looking at him with rage and disgust. Steve hating him.

The thought is more than he can bear.

 

He shaves, using soap because he doesn't want to use masculine shaving cream. Somehow he's getting the feeling 'daddy' won't like that.

And son of a bitch if he isn't trying to fucking please Rollins.

After that, he ends up using his own shaving cream. Fuck Rollins.

He puts on the dress and the panties, the bra, the hose. He's wearing the plug already so there's that.

He decides to take his cell phone. It doesn't matter if Hydra takes it. There's nothing useful in it besides the text they've sent him. He's already incriminated by those. There's no information about the Avengers. Besides, there's a tracking device in the phone and if he goes missing-

He won't go missing. He'll come back.

Feeling sick, he wonders if he should put make up on before he leaves. He doesn't have any makeup. He decides not to ask. He doesn't want to give Rollins ideas.

Bucky slips back into the heels and heads down the hallway, carrying his phone and house keys.

Steve isn't home. Rollins knows his schedule by now of course.

He scribbles a note and leaves it on the kitchen table. He went out shopping, blah blah. Not to worry, etc.

He isn't sure when he'll be home so he doesn't leave anything that suggests when he will.

For a moment he thinks of writing 'I love you.' But he really shouldn't be giving Steve hope about them. He should have broken things off. But it's hard, even with that fucking camera watching, he's been watching movies with Steve and Sam. He's been sitting on the couch with Steve, letting the other man put an arm around him, sidling into his warmth.

'Snake. Viper. Whore.'

He leaves, locking the door behind him, even though it doesn't matter.

He covered up his arm with a zip up hoodie. But he's still incredibly conspicuous – muscular guy in a hot pink dress, black hose, and heels? He's lucky if he doesn't get picked up by the fucking cops.

A shudder goes down his spine at the thought. Rollins would laugh.

 

'There has to be a way out of this – think, think.'

There would be if he had a single fucking piece of intel on Hydra that they actually gave a shit about. But he doesn't and they know that. The only way out of this is to tell Steve.

He stops after crossing the street, just stands on the sidewalk for a few moments. What if he tells them to go fuck themselves?

'Then everything you did last time will have been in vain. All your cooperation. Remember the video he made?'

'Remember the other videos he already has on you?'

He shuddered again. Steve seeing those. Steve and Sam – all of the Avengers too – seeing all of those videos. Watching him get down on his knees and offer his mouth, his ass...

Shaking his head, he takes a deep breath and continues.

'Come on. Just get this over with.'

 

* * *

 

 

He gets to the apartment with little issue. There are a few people who stare or laugh. But most of them ignore him. He gets a few whistles, a catcall.

None of it scares him as much as what's coming.

What if there are more of them this time? What if Jack has a whole fucking party lined up for the evening? His stomach twists.

'Come on, don't fucking chicken out.'

He gets to Rollins's floor and knocks.

Bucky waits for a few moments and hears shuffling behind the door. Then he hears the lock turning and the door opens.

His stomach falls as he sees Rollins and behind him, another man on the sofa.

Rumlow turns to look at him, his face heavily scarred.

“Hey baby,” Rollins grins, eyeing him. “My girl's here, Brock!”

“She's fucking ugly.”

“Fuck you,” Rollins says and puts a hand on Bucky's arm, nearly causing him to startle. “It's okay, baby. He's just bein' a prick cause he lost his dick.”

“Fuck you.” Rumlow says mildly. Bucky stares at him, fighting the screaming voice in his head that tells him to run or to fall to his knees, crawl, beg his handler's forgiveness.

He looks down at the floor.

“Hey, it's okay. Shh,” Rollins is brushing a hand over his cheek, petting his hair. “Remember the good time we had last time?” he murmurs in Bucky's ear. “That's what we're doin' today, baby. But Brock's gonna join us for some fun It'll be just like old times.”

Old times.

He blinks again and swallows. Rollins takes his keys and his cell phone, setting them in a bowl on the counter where other keys rest – probably his own and Rumlow's.

“Go sit down on the couch,” Rollins instructs.

He nods and starts to head over when his arm is grabbed again. He's turned and pulled hard against Rollins who presses his tongue into Bucky's mouth.

He kisses the man in return, trying to fight the trembling in his body.

“Mm, are you chilly baby?” he murmurs, patting Bucky's ass. “Go sit down and snuggle up with Brock.”

Rumlow doesn't even look at him. Just sips his beer and smirks at something on the tv.

Bucky steps over and sits down slowly, the taste of beer on his lips. Rollins's mouth. He can still feel the man's stubble against his skin. His own filthy dick is already getting hard, hopeful.

He looks up at the tv and freezes when he sees the tableau of Steve's living room. It's himself, Steve, and Sam on the sofa. Sam is sitting on Bucky's left, while Steve is on his right. Sam is giving them plenty of space while Bucky leans into the blonde. He's looking up at the tv. Steve is laughing softly at something in the movie and Sam smiles too.

He doesn't smile in the video but he shifts closer into Steve who gently rubs a hand up and down his arm.

How did he forget so easily about the stupid fucking camera?

He feels eyes on him and looks at Rumlow slowly. The man is sipping his beer.

His eyes are fucking terrifying. They hold nothing but pure dark promise. It's like the Rumlow he used to know is completely gone. Oh, Rumlow could be cruel back in the day but he treated the asset mostly like a fond owner treats a dog. Aside from the occasional brutal fucking, anyway, but everyone in Hydra indulged in that. Those who were close enough to anyway.

Now... now there's nothing of that left. He can feel it in the way Rumlow reaches over and puts a hand on his thigh. In the way his finger and thumb press into his skin and slide up slowly.

He looks down at the coffee table, just waiting and wishing for it all to be over.

'You deserve this.'

A bottle appears in his view and he realizes Rumlow is holding it to his lips. He looks at it, then at Rumlow, puzzled. For a moment, he wants to look for Rollins. It makes him ill that he's already looking for the man's approval. He can hear the other man in the kitchen, popping a cap off another bottle.

Rumlow's eyes harden and he shakes the bottle slightly.

Bucky licks his lips and moves them around the mouth of the bottle. Rumlow tips the bottle and he drinks, swallowing steadily.

Rumlow continues to hold the bottle upside down until Bucky swallows every last drop.

He gasps softly when it's over and the bottle is pulled away.

“Hey, you makin' moves on my girl already,” Rollins purrs as he plops down on Bucky's left. There. Now they're mirroring the night before.

Rollins's elbow presses harshly into his ribs and he takes the hint and leans into Rumlow, slowly. He's half expecting Rumlow to slap the shit out of him, to grab his hair, to break the bottle and cut him with it. He'd deserve it after all – Rumlow suffered because he fucked up his mission. They all did.

“Well she's leaning on me,” Rumlow smirks. His hand slides around Bucky's shoulders and pets his hair. He wants to curl up and die. Steve's hand is gently petting his hair on the screen.

“Nasty girl,” Rollins's says, smacking his thigh and he jolts slightly. “Such a dirty, loose girl.”

“I bet she's loose after you kept that fucking plastic in her ass. Huh?” Brock's other hand grips his jaw and it's tight, painful. His face is turned to look at Brock's. All of his instincts scream for him to fight, to lash out, to run. But he ignores them.

Curious. He doesn't remember feeling so bare, so vulnerable like this with Rumlow in the past.

Then again, Rumlow didn't have a smile quite this vicious back then. Or if he did it dind't show up that much.

Rumlow's fingers are pressing into his mouth and he opens it obediently, sucking. The fingers press toward the back of his throat and he nearly gags.

“Look at you, huh? Getting all tight again. Good girl. You didn't let Rogers in that tight ass yet, did you?”

His hair is gripped and his head yanked harshly to the side so that he has to look up at Rumlow oddly. He breathes harder through his nose.

“Answer me.”

He shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“Because you know that's ours. Isn't it, bitch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Be nice, Brock,” Rollins coos, smacking Bucky's ass. He chokes down a sob, sucking Rumlow's fingers until they're pulled out and wiped off on his face.

His face is shoved as the fingers are wiped off and he looks up at the screen again.

“Look at you,” Rumlow sneers. “You could have been magnificent. A fucking weapon. And now you're just a slut.”

“Yeah well,” Rollins shrugs. “Once a whore always a whore, right?” He puts an arm around Bucky, tugging him closer in a friendly manner. Rollins has a grin on his face. “Right, baby? Shh, it's okay.”

He blinks several times and swallows. He's almost glad for the daze he's in.

Bucky allows himself to sink into Rollins's side. They drink beer and comment about Steve and Sam.

“They fuck eachother? Huh?” Rumlow kicks Bucky's leg. Bucky shakes his head. “Huh? Speak bitch.”

“Aw, don't be mean to my girlfriend.”

“I don't like your ugly fucking girlfriend. You have terrible taste,” Brock sips his beer again.

“Shh, it's okay baby. He doesn't mean it.”

“He fucking does too. I'm going to fuck your girlfriend's tight little asshole in front of her two boyfriends. She's a fucking whore and she's no good for you, Jackie boy.”

“Well I guess my friend knows best.”

“Damn fucking straight I do.” A slap connects with Bucky's face. “Answer my question, bitch.”

“Brock.”

He's surprised at the soft note of steel in Rollins's tone. Bucky trembles.

“No, sir. They don't,” he manages.

His hair is gripped tightly and his head is yanked back. He lets himself sob because he knows it'll appease Brock.

“Yeah,” at the same time it makes him taste blood. “Look at that, huh? You wouldn't be fucking crying if you'd done what you were supposed to do.” His head is shaken by his hair and he sobs again, gasping softly.

He notices there's no camera on the stool this time. Later. Rollins is probably saving it for later. Oh God.

He breathes in deeply, slowly, trying to recover himself from the brink of tears. Rumlow licks up the trail of tears on his face. His breath reeks of beer.

“I'm gonna fuck your whore girlfriend's mouth, Jack.”

“What about your little experiment?”

Brock grins and Bucky feels a shiver travel down his spine.

“Oh we'll get to that. Right now though, I need to bust a nut.” He releases Bucky's hair, shoving his head away, then begin to unbuckle his belt.

Bucky gets down on his knees at Rollins's soft order and positions himself between Rumlow's legs. He never wanted to be back here again. He never meant to...

'You deserve this. For what you did to Steve.'

For what he did to all of them. He didn't just endanger Steve. Any of the Commandos could have died on that mission. He was the only one who fell.

And that was _just_.

He waits, watching as Rumlow slips the belt from his pants and holds it out.

“Come here,” he snaps his fingers. It's a painfully familiar phrase and sound and he obeys. The belt is situated around his neck, then looped through the buckle. It's pulled tighter than it was most of the time in the past though – unless he'd misbehaved or fucked up on a mission – and he's choking. He coughs as Rumlow pulls it tighter, sneering at him.

Now he can see the fury in the man's eyes, feel it.

He trembles at the receiving end of it, hoping it will all be over soon. Maybe he'll black out. Maybe Rumlow will even succeed in choking him.

Steve will find his body and know he's a traitor.

He lets out a sob when the air comes out.

Rollins snapped something and he's looking at Rumlow with something like annoyance painted on his face. Bucky is coughing and gasping as the belt loosens.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry?” Rumlow snarls, head whipping to look at him. He'd been eyeing Jack quietly. “What did you fucking say, bitch?” the belt is pulled tight so that he's jerked closer.

He freezes, staring at Rumlow. He'd been in the past, coming back from another time he'd almost blacked out.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers.

“You're not sorry. And I should bust your fucking lip for that,” Rumlow says, his eyes full of darkness. “I'm going to tear you open, you understand me?”

He nods, terrified but he suspected nothing less.

“Yes, sir.”

Rumlow sneers. “ _Commander_. I used to be a fucking _commander_. And you ruined it.” Rumlow takes another sip of his beer, swallowing. Then he sighs and his grip on the leash lessens. Bucky sags slightly.

“Go on. Blow me.”

His eyes are on the screen.

“Put something else on. I'm fucking bored with this queer shit.”

Rollins laughs and says “All right.”

Bucky unzips Rumlow's fly with his teeth, then uses his flesh hand to unhook them. He's wearing fatigue pants.

Rumlow still, in fact, has his dick and it seems to be doing quite well. He can't see Rumlow's stomach or thighs, so he can't say anything for the rest of him, but Brock sets his beer on the coffee table and adjusts himself, sliding his pants open, his briefs down. Bucky can see a thick scar on his left thigh, but he doesn't dwell on it because he honestly does not care and does not want to know.

Bucky leans in and licks the head. Rumlow is already getting hard. He caresses the underside of the head with his tongue the way he knows the 'commander' likes, before sucking it into his mouth.

He wishes remembering Rumlow's preferences didn't come in handy again.

He begins to bob his head slowly, sucking. Meanwhile, he allows himself to be drawn up into the daze that seems to settle over him as he does it.

'Slut,' he thinks as his head bobs. 'You're a slut. You deserve this. You like this.'

He's getting hard himself.

'Rumlow is going to fuck you and you're probably going to come from it. I bet you'll come even if he orders you not to.'

He tries not to find that thought arousing though his body shivers. His face stings and so does his scalp from all the yanking. Brock has a hand in his hair and is rolling his hips slowly.

“Mm, fuck.”

He stars out suspiciously gentle, then begins to fuck Bucky's mouth. He shoves Bucky's head down, his hips rising each time so that his cock meets the back of the other man's throat.

They're watching more videos of him. He can hear his own groans and dead-voice begging, skin slapping on skin.

“Nice,” Rollins says as a cracking sound reaches his ears. A belt, probably against his ass. He hears the soldier moan. Then yelp as he's kicked for making noise, probably in the balls.

“That's right, bitch,” someone says. “You stay quiet.”

There are giggles and he tries to ignore them, tries to go back to that safe dazed space in his head where everything feels a thousand miles away.

Rumlow seems determined to bring him out of it though. He's rocking his hips like he's riding a fucking horse into a trot.

“Hey, whoa!” Rollins laughs. “Take it easy cowboy!”

Rumlow laughs. “Fuck you! Yee haw!”

Bucky gags, but tries to breathe as he swallows Rumlow down. Drool is trickling out of his mouth. He tries to suck some of it up, swallowing, but he remembers it doesn't really matter – some of them like it extra wet.

He wishes he could throw up.

He can smell Rumlow's musk and it's making his own cock weep in sympathy. He fights the urge to run his hands over his own chest, tug at his nipples.

“Mm, fuck... but you're enjoying this way too much, slut.” Rumlow yanks his head back and he gasps. “Look at that face,” the man smacks him lightly on each cheek.

“Fucking blow up doll lips,” Rollins comments, slipping his fingers in.

“Hey. He's mine right now. Back the fuck off.”

Rollins makes a growling noise and pretends to snap at him. Rumlow huffs and lets out a laugh. Bucky keeps his eyes on his 'handler's' chest. Then his head is shaken and he glances up.

“Mm, I don't think this is doing it for you though. How about this?”

Rumlow yanks his pants down, then stands and turns, leaning forward. He shoves his ass in Bucky's face. One hand supports him on the back of the couch. The other pulls his ass cheek aside.

“Go on bitch. Lick it.”

Stomach turning, he leans in and begins to lick at the hole. He wants to gag, somehow doubting Rumlow's really taken time to clean himself up down there lately. He tries not to take in the taste.

“That's right. That's right,” Rumlow reaches back and grabs his hair, squashing Bucky's face into his ass. He can hear Rollins laughing.

“You sick fuck!”

“No more kisses for you, bitch!” Rumlow laughs and shoves his head back.

Bucky feels doubly grateful for the lack of a camera as he pants. He wants to spit but he doesn't.

Rumlow turns and faces him again, begins to jerk himself off. “Open your mouth whore.”

He obeys. Rumlow stares down at him as he presses the head of his cock into Bucky's mouth, onto his tongue.

Then he shoves his whole cock into the kneeling man's mouth and begins to fuck his face in earnest.

“Yeah. Yeah that's right.” His hand fists in Bucky's hair and he groans as he comes. “Yeah, fuck...”

Bucky swallows it all down, eyes shut tight, gagging.

Finally Rumlow is finished. But he doesn't let Bucky pull away. He holds Bucky's head in place, then sits down, dragging the other man along with him by the hair. He's forced to keep Rumlow in his mouth, just keeping him warm.

“Clean me up,” Rumlow tells him, lifting a leg and resting it over his shoulder. “Get me another beer, would you, Jack?”

The other man sighs and shakes his head. But he gets up to go get it.

Rumlow, apparently, is still rather important. Then again he and Rollins always were friends. Bucky files this away mentally, but a part of him bitterly wonders what for. It's not like he can hand this information off to Steve.

Steve. He tries not to think of Steve right now. He doesn't want to poison or ruin thoughts of Steve with... this.

His head is jerked and he comes back to himself, glancing up at Rumlow, then away. The man is watching his face closely. Bucky moves his tongue, sucking gently to clean up the other man. The Commander gets cranky when he's sensitive.

Finally his head is released but he knows better than to pull away right away.

“Look at him. He remembers everything,” Rumlow laughs and pats him on the head almost fondly. He takes his beer from Jack who sits down with a fresh one of his own. Rollins also sets a third beer on the coffee table and Bucky gets an ominous feeling.

Of course they would make him drink.

“Go on. Drink.” Rumlow tells him.

Bucky reaches up and takes the beer slowly. Still facing the couch, he lifts it to his lips and takes a long sip. He might as well be drunk for this, or as drunk as he can get anyway.

It's fucking Heineken too. He tries not to gag. Rollins always loved Heineken and imported beers.

“Ah, that's much better,” Rumlow grins as he leans back against the couch, propping one leg up on the coffee table behind Bucky. “Isn't it, bitch?”

Bucky nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Commander,” Rollins corrects and Rumlow taps Bucky on the side of the head with his boot hard.

“Yes, Commander.” Bucky says, eyes on the couch. He's trying to ignore the bits of memory that come bubbling up at all of this – wetting his pants and the floor, someone's carpet, and crying as quietly as he can while someone approaches to punish him.

“Shh,” Rollins leans forward and scrubs his scalp like that of a dog and Bucky forces himself to keep still. He blinks and wishes it didn't feel so soothing. “He's being a good boy.”

“Good girl,” Rumlow corrects. “Which reminds me...”

“Yeah,” Rollins laughs as he chucks Bucky under the chin lightly. He looks up at them, their grins making his stomach twist. “We gotta make sure our girl doesn't get herself into a bad situation.”

“Yeah. Look at her, all this risky behavior.” Rumlow snatches the beer out of his hand. “I think that's enough for you loose lips.”

Rollins laughs and the other man even smirks, the old light returning to his eyes for a moment before they meet Bucky's.

“Don't you give me that sad look, bitch. You have no right,” Rumlow kicks at him harder this time and he looks down.

“I'm sorry, Commander.”

“Get up.” Rumlow kicks again. “Get up!”

Bucky stands warily on his heels. Where the hell is his old balance? The Soldier could easily move from rooftop to rooftop – then again the Soldier didn't really do heels, at least not on a regular basis.

“Aww, she's so nervous. C'mere baby.” Rollins stands. “Let's go get you your protection.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So one more chapter of awful trash - the other half of this scene, basically, and then the rest of the fic is relatively trash free. Save for Bucky remembering stuff anyway :P


	8. Training part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins make sure that Bucky knows exactly how they feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Same as last chapter, but I'm adding enemas, choking/potential drowning/water torture, mild head injury, unconsciousness, and drugs.

His protection it turns out is an actual bendable plastic ring that's going inside of him. Rollins directs him to lie down on a bed – on his back. Then the other man is climbing up beside him. Like they're lovers.

Bucky lies back and tries to breathe. There's too many memories of lying under someone – taking it from them silently, or as loudly as they liked.

He tries to picture Steve instead but he curses himself silently and forces his eyes open. No. Don't pollute Steve with this shit.

He knows he's kidding himself but if he can just keep this from getting back to Steve's house, back to Steve...

Compartmentalize.

“Good girl,” Rollins is stroking his hair, his eyes almost fond. His hand creeps up Bucky's inner thigh, fingers cold from the beer, and he tries not to jerk away, fingers gripping the bed. “Getting hot already huh?”

Rollins grins and pushes his skirt up, then tugs the panties down.

“Yeah, look at that.”

Bucky wants to die. He blinks and looks away, heat filling his face. Where is his old control? He tries to summon the Soldier's blankness – thinks of cold and ice.

“Open your eyes,” Rollins's voice is cold as he slides his fingers around Bucky's cock which perks at the touch. He obeys.

“You don't get to look away from this.” The man says. “This is my gift to Brock. You give him everything he wants and you do it with a fucking smile, you understand me?” His hand squeezes tightly and Bucky gasps. Rollins laughs, his former glare slipping away. “Yeah, we're hard, huh?”

He forces his lips into a small smile, then a wider one. Tries to picture Steve, when they were younger.

He knows something about faking smiles, or must, because Rollins nods.

“Yeah. Good girl.” He strokes Bucky's cock up and down. “Such a sexy girl.”

He runs his hand up and down Bucky's leg.

“Still nice and smooth too.”

Bucky forces another smile, smaller.

“That's my good girl,” Rollins smacks his thigh, causing him to jolt slightly. The other man laughs and his face burns again.

“Baby's so jumpy. Don't worry.”

He reaches over onto the table by the side of the bed, leaning over Bucky for a moment. Their lips connect and Bucky kisses him back, wishing he could get Steve out of his head.

His cock is rigid while Rollins's lubed hand strokes him. He can barely keep the gasps back.

He looks up and Rumlow is in the doorway, holding the camera.

“That's right,” Rumlow says with a sneer. “Fucking slut. He loves it, Rogers.”

Bucky nearly bolts up to the headboard, shaking his head.

“Goddamn, it,” Rollins hisses, glaring at Rumlow.

“What? He's the one misbehaving,” he says evenly but there's cruelty in his tone. He glares at Bucky. “You get back in place, you hear me bitch?”

He has to hold back the begging.

No, please don't. Please, not Steve. Please, don't take him from me, not Steve.

He obeys slowly, glancing to Rollins.

“I'm sorry.” he says, trembling. Rollins's fingers are lubed and he was just touching Bucky's ass, stroking the rim. Bucky glances from his fingers up to Jack's face and smiles weakly.

“I'm sorry.” He slides down under the man and reaches his hand down to take Rollins's wrist in him, guiding it to his ass shakily. He spreads his knees wider, hikes his skirt up. Rumlow moves in with the camera. With Rollins's back to it, his face isn't visible. Just Bucky.

“Yeah, there we go.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky whispers and leans up to nuzzle at Jack who's smiling now and rubbing his fingers against Bucky's ass. He shakes as the fingers begin to slip one by one in and out of him. Their lips meet again and Jack's kiss is hungry. He hums as he shoves his tongue into Buckys' mouth, making him suck it.

The fingers plunge inside of him and he fights the cry that wants to slip from his lips. The worst thing is that his body is loose and pliant now, as if it knows what this is.

As if it wants it.

His cock throbs when Rollins's fingers stroke his prostate and he groans into the kiss.

Rollins pulls back and laughs. Rumlow, still filming, is laughing too.

“Yeah, he loves it. She. Get into her ass, Jackie. Show her what she's been missing.”

Rollins begins to finger him in earnest, slippery fingers causing a stinging stretch that Bucky loathes himself for relishing. His dick is so fucking hard and it's been so damn long...

He's tried touching himself in the past but it was never... It was hard to get off. There were too many mental landmines and...

He tries to hold back the gasps as Rollins rubs the spot that will make him spill.

“There we go,” Jack is saying, eyes half lidded. There's a husk to his voice that makes Bucky shudder. “That's my girl, getting all wet for me.”

Brock leans in with the camera, focusing on Bucky's shivering shoulders and face.

“Look at me,” he says and Bucky ends up looking into the camera. “That's right. You like that, don't you Barnes?”

He nods, forcing his lips into a small smile.

“Yes, C-Commander.”

“Tell me how good it feels.”

“It feels so good,” he blinks against the moisture in his eyes, face hot.

“You want more, don't you?”

“Please,” he begs. “Please give me more.”

“You wanna come, I bet.”

“Please make me come.” There's no point fighting. They'll either get what they want or this will all go straight to Steve. “Please, sir.”

“Good girl,” Rollins praises and then Bucky feels something slender and flexible slipping up inside of him.

It's followed by Rollins's dick, bareback. The bastard had been slicking himself up while he fingered Bucky and he didn't even fucking notice.

His head snaps back and his eyes widen before squeezing closed. He gasps.

“Open up,” Rollins growls, fingers clutching harshly at Bucky's outer thighs. He pushes himself in all the way and Bucky barely stifles a whine as he opens his eyes.

They move to the camera again, which is still on his face.

“You love this,” Rumlow whispers.

“Yes. Yes, I do. Please, more,” he begs.

“You heard it Jack. He needs a dick, bad.”

“Poor baby,” Rollins cups his face and turns it so that their eyes meet. “Mm, that's why you're crying huh? You need a dick so fucking bad. And Rogers never gave it to you?” He chuckles and shakes his head and Bucky has to stifle his rage so it doesn't show on his face. “Mm, he must not really want you that much.”

“Not taking care of his girl. Look what happens when you don't, folks! They start getting it somewhere else. Isn't that right, Jack?”

Rumlow's now stepped back and is filming the whole scene.

Bucky's hands instinctually gravitated to Jack's waist and the other man holds his thighs tightly as he fucks into Bucky.

“Mm, that is so good.” Jack growls. “Such a good girl, giving it all up.”

“That's right. But you just put that ring in, Jack! And you're not wearing protection!”

“Uh oh,” Jack laughs as he begins to fuck harder. “Well that's what happens when you're a sloppy girl, right, Brock?”

“Yep!”

Jack's hips are now slamming against his. And Bucky doesn't want to come, doesn't want it, has to abort shaking his head as Rollins grabs his dick and begins to stroke it.

“No? No, you don't wanna come?”

“Please. Yes,” he forces himself to say.

“You sure?”

“Yes, please,” Bucky sobs as Jack hammers inside of him, rubbing against just the right spot. He knows how this game goes and isn't surprised when Jack releases his dick a moment later, then pulls out and sprays on his face.

“Mm, fuck...”

Rumlow laughs as Bucky's eyes close, but his lips stay parted. He slides his tongue out, shame consuming him like a fire.

“Yeah... you want all of that?” Jack wipes the come from his face off with a finger then rubs it off on Buckys' tongue. “There you go.”

“Clean him up good, bitch.”

Bucky sits up and licks at the other man's cock, sucking off the residue. He swallows it and feels like throwing up. Wishes he could, but his body won't let him.

Jack cleans off the rest of the come on Bucky's face, his hair, his shirt, then presses it into his mouth.

“Good girl.” He says softly.

Bucky forces himself to smile for Jack.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you, sir,” Rumlow imitates in a whiny tone, lowering the camera at last. “Wow, what a fucking slut you've got yourself there, Jack.”

“Hey,” Rollins croons, stroking Bucky's hair. “She's a good slut.”

Rumlow snorts. “Now I think we should get her prepared.”

“Oh yeah,” Rollins smiles over his shoulder at Jack. “I've got everything ready too.” They both look at Bucky, identical sharp grins and he represses a shudder.

“I was thinking it would be a good idea,” Brock says. “To make sure you know what you might be getting yourself into, being such a sloppy girl and all.”

“You might get pregnant,” Rollins strokes his hair. “And I don't want that. I don't think you do either.”

“You not being a family girl and all,” Rumlow mumbles and Jack laughs.

“He's so nasty, isn't he? Look. You're just not the girl for me. We both know this is just for fun, right?”

Bucky nods. Play into their stupid fucking game.

“So we need to teach you what happens when you open your legs so easily.”

He bites his lip to hold back the begging. It'll just make it worse. Jack raises his eyebrows.

“You gonna let us help you?”

Bucky nods. “Please. Teach me.”

“Good girl.” Jack stands up, tucking his dick away, then offers a hand. Bucky takes it with his flesh hand and allows Jack to tug him up gently like he's a real lady.

Then they're moving into the hallway and down into the bathroom. The one Bucky shaved his legs in the other day.

The bathtub is completely clean – no sign of hair anywhere. Bucky looks at the counter and has to fight the urge to bolt.

An enema kit is lying there, ready on top of a towel.

“Yeah,” Brock is filming his expression now and laughing. “We're gonna make sure you know what you're getting yourself into when you let Jackie boy get inside of you.”

“Brock,” Jack is laughing, almost doubled over by it. “Okay baby,” he looks at Bucky. “Lie down in the tub.”

Bucky trembles as he climbs into it, still wearing the heels. He gets down on his knees first, then rolls onto his back, surprisingly smoothly.

“Good girl,” Jack says, kneeling down beside the tub and stroking his knee. “Lift your legs.”

Bucky does.

“Here, scoot this way.” He snaps his fingers toward the faucet. Bucky's head is near the wall.

The camera is on his face again and Jack tilts his head. “Smile,” he mouths.

Bucky does, forcing his lips into a curve.

“I bet you need to be cleaned out,” Jack says. “Don't you.”

“Probably feels all dirty after all that,” Brock muses, tapping the counter by the enema kit.

“Please,” Bucky says, nodding.

“Oh, did you see that Jack? She thinks you make her dirty.”

Jack smirks. “It's okay. She's a dirty girl and I know she really likes it,” he pets her knee. “Hold your knees, baby.” His finger taps the back of Bucky's thigh and he obeys again, lifting his legs and grasping them under the knees.

He's now perfectly bared, his cock still hard from dissappointment.

“Look at how nasty she is,” Brock comments, filming. “She's still hot and wet for you, Jack.”

“Mm, I just can't seem to satisfy her, Brock.”

“It's never enough, Rogers. You just can't make some people happy.”

“Yeah. It's not your fault, buddy.” Jack shakes his head as Bucky tries to hold back the panic. He gives Jack a pleading look.

“Please,” he says. “Please give it to me.”

 

Jack goes slowly. Brock keeps filming his face throughout the whole ordeal.

Rollins uses gentle touches, moves slowly, croons softly at him. As he holds the bag up and dumps the liquid in, suddenly careless, he pets Bucky's belly, hand avoiding touching his hard dick.

“Good girl.”

Bucky gasps at the sensation of cool water filling him. He can smell herbs, oil, and he feels sick.

His eyes water as his stomach fills. At first it's arousing. But his body knows what this is and trembles. The pain slowly starts to creep in as he fills completely and begins to cramp. He clenches his teeth and whines.

“See? See what happens when you let a man inside of you, baby? You get big,” Rumlow says, pushing down on his stomach and causing him to yelp.

“Shh,” Rollins strokes his outer thigh. “I know, it's uncomfortable. But it's good for you to know what it feels like.”

“Maybe now you'll be a good girl and keep your legs closed. We're trying to help, Rogers.”

“Please,” Bucky tries to hold back a sob. “Please.”

“You want more? I think she wants more, Jack.”

“Mm, but you're already so full,” Jack shakes the bag as Bucky trembles. “I guess I'll have to give her my dick again.”

“Here, why don't you take a break?” Rumlow hands him the camera, sneering down at Bucky. He pulls something out of his pocket and Bucky stares at it.

“Oh don't worry. I'm not gonna give her my dick, pal.” He looks into the camera with a smile while Jack snorts. “I'm gonna give her something even better.”

 

The dildo is at least as thick around as Brock's fist, but he climbs into the tub and presses it into Bucky's ass. Bucky tries not to sob as it slides in.

His cock hardens again after wilting from the pain in his belly. The dildo stretches painfully, but then Brock is pumping his cock.

“That's right, you dirty fucking slut. Come.”

The dildo rocks in and out of him, slow, almost teasing. He can feel some of the liquid in his belly trickle around him.

“Ugh. So sloppy, Jack. I don't know why you want this girl.”

“She can take it so well, though,” Jack films.

“You know what I think she needs?” Rumlow sneers. “She needs something in her mouth. Only problem is I already busted my nut and so did you.”

“Yeah... I don't know what to do there,” Jack makes a sad face at Bucky. “Looks like I just can't satisfy you.”

“Nobody can. Nobody can satisfy Hydra's famous slut. But I got an idea.” Rumlow grins. “Turn the water on Jack.”

Bucky wants to beg them to stop but he has to endure this. He trembles, gripping his stomach which is actually slightly distended. He gasps as the head of the dildo presses against his prostate again. He's getting close with Rumlow pumping him, even though his whole body is shaking and it's all he can do is hold on.

He keeps seeing other bathrooms, other tubs, tile shower floors where he was cursed at for letting the enema spill on a tech. Black boots that connected with his body.

He sobs as Rumlow presses the dildo up inside of him, securing it in place with straps that he pulls from his other pocket. Then he's turning Bucky around harshly, shoving his head down toward the running faucet.

He closes his eyes against the cold splash of water in his face.

“Open your mouth, dirty girl,” Rumlow's tone brooks no argument. Bucky obeys and the water fills his mouth, causing him to gag. “That's right. Keep it open. We know how much you like getting fucked in the face.”

Jack keeps the camera still rolling while Rumlow grasps Bucky's hips and hauls them up. He shoves his hips forward, pressing the dildo in further, then lets it slide back out to where the straps are keeping it, halfway inside of him.

Rumlow fucks him while Jack holds the camera and tugs at his dick. Rumlow brushes the other man's hand aside though and fists Bucky's cock hard and fast.

He gags under the water, the pain in his belly and ass completely taking his mind off anything else but the sensations.

He deserves this. He does.

He gasps and sputters throat feeling full over and over again. He's being held down and fucked by one cock after another, hands gripping his hair. Someone else is pounding into his ass while a hand tugs at his dick, taunts him.

'Don't come yet. Don't you dare fucking come yet, bitch.'

He gasps and sobs, chokes, and lets out a cry as he approaches his orgasm, twitching and throbbing in Rumlow's hand which pumps fast and hard.

“That's right slut,” Brock snarls. “Fucking come. Fucking come already!”

He does and he comes so hard that he blanks out.

 

When he comes to, he's being hauled up, wet and coughing, the camera still on his face while Rumlow yanks the dildo out of his ass. Buck lets out a hoarse cry.

“Go on. Let it all out,” Brock stands, boot tip pressing against Bucky's stomach.

He groans as he spills and the camera catches everything. Shame burns his face when it returns to him.

“Was that good slut?” Rumlow is kneeling by the bathtub, gripping his hair, breath hot against his cheek. He nods weakly.

He forces himself to smile and speak when Rumlow yanks on his hair again.

“Yes. It was g-good. Thank you, sir.”

“When's the last time you came, huh?”

“A... a week ago.”

“That's right. Look at how tired and happy your girl is, Rogers.”

Bucky sobs.

“Shh,” Jack whispers. “It's okay. We're not really gonna show this to your boyfriend. We're just teasing.”

“Yeah, she likes that teasing,” Brock grins into the camera. “She likes a man who knows how to really give it to her, Rogers. Because she's just a little lost slut and God knows you can't fucking satisfy her.”

Rollins chuckles and turns off the camera.

“You done making your speech?” he winks at his friend as he lowers the camera.

Rumlow seems to think for a moment, mock frowning. He nods, shoving Bucky's head away and releasing him.

“Yeah, I think so.”

They stand together, eyeing Bucky.

“You feelin' better?” Rollins pats Rumlow's shoulder.

“Yeah... Yeah I think I got some things off my chest. I think your girl needs a nap now though.”

“Oh definitely. I'll get her cleaned up and we can put a diaper on her so she doesn't make a mess on the bed.”

“Yeah. She's always needing a diaper for that sloppy cunt of hers.”

 

That's when Brock kicks in him the face. Bucky's head smacks against the wall of the bathtub and he falls.

 

When he comes to, he's swaying in the tub. Someone is crooning and rubbing at his face. He weakly grabs at their arms.

“Steve?” he murmurs.

Rollins smiles at him.

“Shh,” his thumb brushes against Bucky's cheek, hand gripping his jaw. “I'm just getting you cleaned up, baby. Don't worry. You'll be back with your boyfriend soon.”

He catches glimpses of the shower and Rollins' hands, a bar of soap, his body expelling more fluid.

Then he sags again, his head throbbing.

 

The next time he wakes up he hears two men talking. He blinks up at the ceiling, wincing.

When he looks over, he finds his wrists tied and nearly panics, but then realizes that they're just tied with sheets. He could easily break out of them.

He feels incredibly weak, however, and a pinch on his arm causes him to realize there's an IV in it.

He swallows his panic, shifting, and realizing he's got a diaper on. His face heats, but it's nothing compared to the memories returning.

They filmed him. And they addressed Steve multiple times.

He looks through the opened door. The room is dark but out in the hall, he can see the two men talking quietly. Rollins has an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips while Rumlow is holding the camera, which is off.

The former happens to glance down the hall and then Jack follows suit. Jack smiles slowly.

“Ah, there's my little beauty queen,” he croons around the cigarette before taking it out of his mouth. He steps down the hall and Rumlow sneers at Bucky who looks away, his heart picking up again. His stomach twists as Rollins sits down on the bed beside his prone figure.

“You were such a good girl for us,” he says, stroking Bucky's cheek. “So we're gonna be nice and let you take a nice long nap, okay?”

He nods stiffly. His throat is aching and his nose is still throbbing. Jack presses at it gently and he winces.

“We gave you a nice cocktail here,” Rollins holds up the IV bag hanging in an actual stand, then gently releases it. He keeps his eyes on Bucky's. “Just something to help you relax. Don't worry about the ties,” he smiles. “You'll break out of them fine. Soon as you get all your strength back. You took a real dive in the tub.” He chuckles. “Brock just wanted to make sure you know how he feels about you.”

“I care so much,” Rumlow calls down the hall. “We love you sweetheart.”

“We sure do,” Rollins looks into his eyes, gaze triumphant. He looks sated. Bucky's ass is sore, he realizes, but that's prob... probably from the dildo.

Sure.

“Now you be good and take your nap.” He reaches up to the bag and twists something. Bucky shivers as he begins to feel a sweet rush building in his veins. Slowly, the pains in his body and head begin to fade. He tries to protest, tries to tug at the binds.

“Shh,” Rollins is sitting on the bed again and it dips, translating like echoes and waves through Bucky's body. He groans quietly and after startling slightly at the cup of a warm hand on his face, he leans into it. Rumlow is in the room now, watching silently. Bucky stares at him, dazed, then looks at Rollins.

The room seems to tilt and his vision begins to double. He tries to keep Rollins in his sight but...

He whines as the hand gently brushes against his cheek. His eyes are wet.

“That's right. Go to sleep.”

Then Rollins is standing and Bucky tries to speak. His mouth feels oddly dry.

Rollins chuckles.

“Shh,” he presses a finger to Bucky's lips. He leans in and takes one last kiss.

'Bite him. Bite him. Bite the motherfucker.'

He merely kisses back, the anger trembling away beneath the surface. He's too drowsy to attack. Everything is slowly slipping away and his eyes fall shut.

“Good boy,” Rollins says and Bucky feels one last brush to his hair before he settles into darkness.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up hours later. His mouth is dry when he does and his eyelids keep wanting to slide shut against the dim light that trickles in from behind the curtains.

When memory settles in, it slams his brain awake and he tries to struggle up. His arm aches after being tied out and toward the headboard for so long. He growls and yanks his metal arm, only succeeding in stretching the sheet tying him at first, until the arm recalibrates and he hears the sheet rip.

His arm slings forward, almost smacking him in the chest.

Cursing, he holds still for a moment and listens.

The apartment is completely silent.

His eyes search the room wildly for any cameras, even small ones that might be up near the ceiling or hidden...

No.

They're gone, he realizes. They must be. They got what they wanted, after all.

He curses himself silently as he slowly struggles into a sitting position. The morphine or whatever they gave him has worn off and he shudders at the aches that slowly filtering in, replacing it. Bucky hauls himself up by the arm that's still tied, his flesh arm, and his metal fingers rip at the sheet around his wrist. They barely even knotted the sheets – an insult to injury.

He snarls, his anger rolling up like waves and rips the sheet away from the headboard, throwing it. He watches it fall to the floor, too delicately for his rage.

He yanks the IV from his arm – the bag is empty. He needs to urinate again.

The diaper... He shudders as he sits up and feels the wetness in it. He rips it from his body and tosses it aside, then freezes in horror.

He's made a mess on the bed. Rollins will...

No. No.

His hands clasp at his head.

“Stop,” he ends up whispering. “Just fucking stop.”

It's over.

He sits listening, waiting, for someone to come and punish him but when no one does, he lets out a weak laugh.

'Idiot,' he thinks. 'They got what they wanted from you. Now go home.'

He scrambles up, nearly stumbling over the shoes waiting for him – the heels.

His mind goes into a spin as he sees his keys and phone waiting for him on the night table along with the skirt, neatly folded up.

He chokes on his fury and pulls the clothes on, trembling. They even got left him a fresh pair of panties.

When he picks up the panties, something falls out.

The plug.

For a moment he stares at it and his teeth clench. He wants to throw it, wants to...

He doesn't. 

He checks, to make sure that the ring isn't inside of him anymore. It's gone. They must have pulled it out of him when he passed out. He feels sick at the thought of their touch while he was unconscious. But it doesn't matter anymore. It's over now. 

 

His hands shake as he grabs his phone and keys into his pocket, head protesting, a dull ache gathering behind his eyes. Fuck. He sways on the heels, having to steady himself with a hand on the wall.

He stumbles out of the bedroom after peeking through the door, glancing both ways. He slowly creeps by the bathroom, noting that it's clean.

They wouldn't leave evidence, of course. All there is is the fucking IV.

He finds no one in the living room or the kitchen. For a moment, he thinks they must be watching. Waiting. He almost expects Rumlow to jump out behind the couch with a laugh and shout 'Surprise!'

But no, he wasn't that nimble. He moved almost stiffly, awkwardly, even though he fucked Bucky with all of the power in his hips and doesn't the soreness inside of him still testify to that?

'He's a cripple. He was crippled and you let him fuck you. You could have broken him in half.'

He shudders and scoffs, bitter.

He was a fool.

 

He searches the apartment thoroughly before he leaves, even though he wants to run. He looks for bugs, looks for any potential cameras, nearly tears the entertainment center apart looking for anything left.

Nothing.

He searches for clothes in the bedrooms but there's nothing in the closet and he can almost hear Rumlow laughing as he tells Jack to make sure.

No. They want him to walk home looking every bit like the slut he is.

He even looks in the fridge and it's fucking empty. He tries to remember how many beers Rollins drank, how many Rumlow had, how many did he? How many had to have been-

He rubs his metal hand over his face – it's cool and soothing.

It doesn't matter. It just doesn't.

 

He leaves, carefully moving down the hallway and double checking at one point that he still has his phone and keys. The light outside of the building hurts his eyes and he curses, stopping for a moment in the doorway, eyes closed shut, before forcing them open and moving on.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably still a serious head injury but considering it's Bucky and he can heal, it's probably not as serious as if a normal person got it.   
> Anyway, the trash is officially over! Yay! You made it through! *claps* Good job!


	9. Betrayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve discovers where Bucky has really been when he goes out. Bucky's worst fear becomes a reality and all he can do is hope that Steve can forgive him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said the trash is over? Well it's technically over, but this chapter is sad because Steve finds out the truth and it's not pretty. 
> 
> I really struggled writing this chapter and the end result is that I feel like Steve comes off a bit out of character, but remember he's really, really hurt and angry.
> 
> Warnings: Physical violence (mild), self blaming, and hints of self harm.

He feels the same trickle of relief as he reaches the house and he nearly rolls his eyes at himself.

He has no reason to feel relieved. This will happen again and again until they get tired or bored with the game and either drug him and try to wipe him or...

He shouldn't have let them put that IV on him. What the hell is wrong with him? They could have him halfway across the planet by now, off to some hidden Hydra base with a chair waiting for him. He shudders at the thought.

The sky is bright – it looked to be almost midday – and his head is starting to throb, right in the center. Shit, Steve was going to lose it. Bucky's been out all night.

As he looks at his phone, he sees three missed calls – all from Steve, all from this morning. 

It'll be fine. He'll explain that he was out at the club all night. Steve will buy it and if he doesn't, Bucky can just explain he has a migraine anyway – and it sure feels like he has an impending one – cause he drank too much or whatever and he doesn't feel like talking about it right now. It takes a lot to make Bucky drunk, but what does Steve know? He hasn't exactly seen Bucky drunk since the war.

He tries not to think of what else Rollins and Rumlow might do, just 'for fun.' What if they... What if they release the recording anyway?

He breathes in deeply before he grabs the doorknob. He feels like he has a fever or the flu; dazed and nauseated.

Turning it, he slowly steps inside and closes the door behind him. He breathes out in relief when he sees that Steve isn't sitting on the sofa.

Then he steps into the room and looks up to see Steve in the kitchen. He's at the counter, his back toward Bucky. In Steve's hand is his phone and he's got it on speaker phone.

Bucky can hear his own voice coming from Steve's phone.

He freezes at the sound of it.

“Why should we believe you?” the voice is in English but accented heavily with German. Ice travels up his spine despite that he's already cold. His heart twists.

“No,” he says weakly.

Steve looks up and stares at him. There's something like a lost expression in his eyes but it's rapidly turning into suspicion. Steve stares at him for a moment, then he blinks and his eyes are taking in Bucky's disheveled appearance.

“I want him,” his voice, from so many fucking years ago and there's no doubt it's him. “Just let me have him. You can do whatever you want with the rest of them. Hell, you can do whatever you want with me.”

The agent on the other end of the line laughs.

“You will be coming from the northeast?”

“Yes. At oh-eight hundred. They know Zola is on the train.”

Steve is shaking his head. He seems to have a hard time breathing suddenly as he stares at Bucky.

Bucky swallows thickly, doesn't know how to speak.

“Steve,” he finally manages. He's shaking like a leaf and he knows his eyes are wide. He should school his expression, he should say something.

'What are you going to say? That it's a lie? That it's false?'

The recording ends. Steve looks down at his phone.

“I've got something else for you too,” Rumlow's voice says and it sounds like he's laughing. Bucky's heart clenches.

“No!”

Steve looks up at him, something dark and disbelieving in his eyes.

It's that kid from Brooklyn. That disappointed look, but harsher.

Betrayed.

“Tell me it's not,” Steve says softly, shaking his head. “Tell me it's not real.”

There's more laughter over the phone – it's both of them laughing now. Bucky's teeth clench.

“Steve. Please, hang up,” he pleads quietly.

Steve looks down at the phone. Then he looks up at Bucky. His eyes are beginning to flash, bright and hot. His brows furrow deeply and his jaw ticks.

“Is that where you...” he chokes. Then he presses his thumb hard into the phone. He throws it then, and Bucky flinches as it cracks against the kitchen wall.

Just like that, Steve is moving toward him. Bucky freezes, unable to move and Steve's hands are gripping his arms harshly, yanking him forward, almost off of his toes.

“Is that where you've been?” he growls. “Is _that_ who you met the other night?” He shakes Bucky and the dark haired man lets out a weak, choked noise.

“Steve-”

“Is _that_ who you've been with? How long? _How long, Bucky?_ Has this all been a joke to you?”

Steve shakes him hard several more times and he lets out a sob.

“Steve, no-”

“Tell me it's not real! _Tell me!_ ”

Bucky's teeth clench. He can't breathe. His whole body is aching and his chest feels like it's going to implode. He gasps and shakes his head.

“Please... Please stop. I can't...”

Steve's heavy breathing is all he hears as he sags in the other man's grip as he sobs again, gasping for air. When he can finally speak, he continues.

“I'm sorry,” he says finally, trembling.

'No, look him in the eyes. Do it. Look him in the fucking eyes because it's the least he deserves.'

_'You don't get to look away from this.'_

“I... I did. I betrayed you.”

Steve stares at him. His features twist.

He shakes his head.

“No.” His hands gentle. “No. You can't... You... They did something to you. I know they did-”

“Steve,” he shakes his head, fighting the crumpling of his own face. Those fucking assholes.

'No. This is all you. You can't even blame them because this is your fault.'

“I'm sorry,” he manages.

“You're sorry?” Steve stares at him for a moment, stunned. Then he begins to shake his head and his lip curls. “You're _sorry?”_

Steve's eyes flash and he lets out something between a scoff and a sob. His face twists in disgust and he shoves Bucky back hard.

The other man stumbles off the heels and lands hard on his ass. He bites back his yelp when the plug inside of him is jarred, then drags himself back against the door. He remembers the camera above and holds up his hands.

“Wait, Steve, please-”

“How _could you?_ ” Steve can barely speak. He shakes his head again. “Tell me it _isn't fucking real,_ Bucky! Tell me!”

Bucky swallows.

“It... It is,” he nods. Because it's the least Steve deserves, the truth. Even though it's going to hurt, even though it's going to fucking destroy him.

And it is. It is destroying him.

Steve is shaking his head, face wet. Bucky shivers at the anger and hurt growing in his eyes.

“All this fucking time...” he shakes his head. “Bucky... I spent all of this time.”

“I know. I know,” he pushes himself up. “Steve, I swear to God, I was gonna tell you-”

Steve lets out a hard laugh.

“Oh I'm sure you were,” he nods. “When you 'remembered' right?”

His heart feels like it's slowly being dipped in ice water.

“Steve...”

The blonde shakes his head, eyes closing. He holds up a hand.

“I don't want to hear it anymore, Barnes. Get out.”

Bucky shakes his head. No, please no.

“Steve-”

“Get out.”

He's trembling all over but he shakes his head. “Steve, please-”

“Get _out!”_

“There's a camera,” he manages. “On the wall,” he looks up, pointing. Steve's eyes go up to the camera. Then he looks down at Bucky again and oh god, how his face has transformed. When did he have circles under his eyes? How long have those been there?

How long have his eyes been so full of hate and distrust?

Steve shakes his head.

“You have a _camera watching me?_ ” he says lowly. “This has all...” he blinks, unable to speak for a moment and he looks dizzy, beside himself. Bucky hasn't seen that expresssion since... since before he came to live with Steve.

The man on the bridge.

“Has this all been a _show_ for you? For them?” Steve's eyes are wet, reddened.

Bucky shakes his head. “I didn't know! I didn't know until recently!”

“You didn't-” Steve scoffs. “You didn't _know?_ ” He snarls and steps closer. “How recently?”

“Until about... t-two weeks ago, that's when they contacted me-”

“Two weeks,” Steve scoffs again, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “Where's the fucking camera?”

He scrambles up, trembling, and turns to the space behind the door. He reaches up and plucks it out of the corner, then holds it to Steve who snatches it from him and looks down at it. He looks up at Bucky who stares back at him.

“Steve-”

“Did you put this there?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “No, Steve. I swear to God, I didn't even know-”

Steve crushes the camera in his fist and throws it against the wall, snarling. Bucky flinches again.

“So _they've_ been in here. _They've_ been in this house?”

Bucky nods stiffly. He can feel his heart beating through his head, through his whole body.

“Yes.”

“How long? _How long have you known about this?_ ” he says through gritted teeth.

“A... a month. I remembered what I did a month ago-”

“You _remembered?_ ” Steve scoffs. “You know, people tried to warn me...” He shakes his head. “Tony _warned_ me about you.”

Bucky's stomach sinks.

“Sam. Sam tried to warn me too. Natasha. But,” he shakes his head and lets out a weak laugh. “I didn't listen.”

“Steve, please-”

“Get out.” His blue eyes are cold, hard.

Bucky shakes his head. “Steve, please don't make me-”

He's grabbed his left arm and hauled close.

“Get _out!_ I want you _out of my house!_ ”

Steve yanks the door open and begins to shove him through the door. 

Bucky stumbles, running into the door frame and clutching it with his free hand. 

“Steve, please-” he can't anymore. He just can't. He leans back against the door frame, trembling, tears blurring his vision.

'You deserve this.'

Steve is shaking his head. “I trusted you. I _trusted_ you and you – you made me into a – you _sold me out_ to my _worst enemies._ Not just me, either, but _all of us! Why?_ ” His face crumples into pain and his voice breaks. “God, Bucky _why?_ ”

“I don't know!” he cries, blinking through the tears. “Steve, please, God-”

“Get back in here,” Steve's eyes flash and he snarls, yanking him back into the house. Bucky is shoved toward the coffee table, nearly hitting it, and falling between it and the couch. He scrambles backward, staying on his knees between the two. He's shaking and he drops his eyes at Steve's look of cold fury.

'Don't fight. Don't fight. Just submit. Take your punishment.'

It's Steve. It's not them, it's _Steve-_

Steve slams the door shut, causing Bucky to jolt and glance up.

“I'm not letting you escape,” his voice is cold. Bucky trembles and looks down again. “You're going to stay right there and I'm going to get Romanov over here. Do you hear me?”

He glances up, nodding. Then he watches, trembling as Steve heads into the kitchen. He can hear Steve gathering up his phone.

He stares off toward the door, eyes closing as he sags.

Then there are swift steps up behind him and Bucky nearly jumps, turning to look.

“Give me your phone.”

He looks at where he set it on the coffee table, blinking in a daze. Steve takes it and heads into the kitchen. He's already picked up his own phone and finding it almost miraculously working, he presses the screen. He's got it against his ear when he starts to look through Bucky's phone.

Bucky's stomach twists as he thinks about the texts between him and Rollins. Bucky closes his eyes and looks away, down at the floor.

“Natasha, it's Steve. I need you to come over.”

He's silent for a few moments and Bucky's ears strain as he listens. His heart is pounding in his head and he closes his eyes, realizing they're aching. His right knee and hand feel hot and he realizes he scraped them on the door frame when Steve tried to throw him out. His flesh arm is red and he knows there will be bruises. There are already bruises on his wrists from Rumlow's grip, though they're fading.

'You deserve this.'

“Go to your room.”

He looks up at the cold tone, blinking. Steve is glaring down at him, blue eyes icy.

“I don't want to look at you right now.”

Bucky can barely look up at him.

“Don't look at me that way,” Steve sneers. “You deserve _everything_. _Everything_ Hydra did to you.”

The air evaporates from his lungs. Then he nods and looks away.

“You will get up. And you will go into that room. And you will _stay there_. Do you understand me?”

Bucky nods stiffly. He slowly stands, then steps around Steve.

“I swear to God if you try to slip away...” he growls, stopping Bucky by grabbing his arm again. He stops and shakes his head quickly. For some reason he still can't speak. Steve releases his arm like it's scalding him, almost shoving it away.

Bucky moves down the hall feeling dazed. He doesn't shut the door, just goes to his bed and sits on the floor beside it slowly, trembling.

Everything crashes in on him and he fights the need to sob. He doesn't deserve to cry. Doesn't deserve to feel hurt or sad.

Doesn't deserve to trouble Steve with his crying.

So he tries to stay quiet while the tears trail down his face. He curls up, making himself as small as he can and tries to keep the whimpers trapped behind his teeth.

 

* * *

 

 

He's still sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, and staring into space when he feels a small hand on his shoulder. He looks up, startled and sees Natasha Romanov eyeing him. Her expression is carefully blank and he looks away.

“Is it true?” she asks him.

He stares at the wall. He nods. Of course it's true. Steve would never lie.

 _Bucky_ is the liar.

Bucky. He isn't even _Bucky_ , doesn't even deserve that nickname. He's just the soldier, just the asset.

“Speak,” she orders. 

“Yes,” he says dully. “It's true.”

“You betrayed him? You sold him out to Hydra. During... during the war?”

He blinks and glances up at her. Her expression seems almost as lost as Steve's did initially.

He feels a searing pain at the memory of Steve's face and looks down again, nodding.

“Why?”

“I...” he blinks. “I don't know.”

She breathes in deeply through her nose, then exhales.

“Did you give them _any_ information – Rollins and Rumlow?”

He shakes his head, glancing up at her, then away again.

“No.”

He didn't exactly have any information _to give_. What was he going to tell them? Sam listens to Marvin Gaye and sings while he cooks? Steve smiles at him when he does it?

His heart twists and he blinks against the moisture in his eyes. He thought he'd cried it all out already. His head is throbbing and his mouth is dry. His skin feels cold.

'Get it together. You're so pathetic. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You don't deserve to.'

“Get dressed,” she tells him. “You're coming with me.”

He glances up at her. Then he looks down again. He wants to ask where they're going but does it really matter?

No. It doesn't.

He slowly stands up. Then he waits for her to turn and leave the room, closing the door behind her, before he goes over to the dresser. He mindlessly picks a shirt, then some jeans. He pulls off the dress and bra. Then the panties. He slides the stockings off, just realizing he still has the heels on. The blood from the scrape on his knee has crusted over. He scraped his knee when Steve tried to throw him out of the house. 

 

 _Steve_. _Steve tried to throw him bodily out of the house. Steve shoved him. Steve told him that he deserved..._

It starts bleeding again when he peels the hose down. He fumbles with the heels and finally breaks the buckle with his metal hand, tearing them off.

He reaches around himself to pull the plug out, then stops.

No. Might as well just leave it there.

The soreness of it is almost welcome anyway. He deserves it. He deserves to be reminded what a whore he is.

The plug is the only thing he can feel right now. Everything else is so far away.

Well, he can feel the burning on his hand and arm too, where he hit the door frame. It's a hot feeling and it's welcome too. His metal hand briefly squeezes his flesh hand and he gasps as the heat travels up his arm. It blooms warmly, almost radiating to the ache in his chest. Then he releases it and scowls.

'No. You don't deserve to feel good.' 

He pulls on the briefs and the jeans, then the t shirt. He doesn't even deserve to wear briefs or clothes, really. He stares around the room. Then he grabs a hoodie, even though he doesn't deserve its warmth, and pulls it on. The hood will help disguise him while they transport him.

After that he pulls on socks. He doesn't deserve the new black tennis shoes, so he pulls on the other shoes he owns – the sneakers. They're old. Maybe they were the first shoes he was given here, probably Sam's old shoes. 

He looks around the room and remembers his knife. He has one knife, hidden behind the headboard. He takes the knife and admires the glint of its metal. It feels real in his hand. He thinks of it in his throat or in his chest. Is that where Natasha is taking him – to kill him? It might be the best thing for him, really.

He tucks the knife flat against his back in the band of his pants. Its presence is comforting there.

Then he steps out of the room in a daze.

Natasha is waiting in the living room. She's looking into the kitchen, then she looks up at him. Her brows knit and her eyes narrow. Her gaze is cold and confused. He looks down.

“You didn't pack anything,” she says.

He shakes his head. It's all Steve's anyway, he doesn't really need it. He doesn't deserve the clothes on his back let alone to take anything else from Steve.

For whatever reason Natasha doesn't fight him on this. 

He doesn't look at Steve until they're moving toward the door. Then he glances back. Steve is standing by the counter, his back to them. One of his hands is covering the bridge of his nose.

Bucky blinks several times and his throat clogs. He tries to swallow, tries to speak. Wants to avoid the camera behind the door, but it's not there anymore...

He feels Natasha's hand silently rest on his shoulder and he looks at her. She shakes her head. Her eyes are almost sympathetic, then the mask is back in place and she exits the house. He follows, closing the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

The drive is long and quiet. He almost thought they were going to Stark Tower, as it's the only place he knows of that could safely hold someone like him. He's expecting a cell that's blank and white, maybe with clear walls, like a glass box. They'll keep him there like a zoo animal. Steve's friends will look in at him with disgust and he'll deserve it.

He briefly wonders what they'll do to him now that he isn't Steve's friend any longer. Does it really matter? He deserves anything they do.

He blinks when he realizes Natasha is talking to him and turns to stare at her.

“Are you hungry?” she repeats.

He frowns at the question. Why should she care if he's hungry? He's just...

He shakes his head. Then his stomach growls.

She purses her lips and they go through a drive-thru. He looks out the passenger side window as she orders for him. He watches a little girl and her mother walk from a grocery store to their car, the mother holding bags.

 

There's a warm bag in his lap and he stares at it. Natasha orders him to eat, so he pulls out a cheeseburger and takes a bite of it. He chews, ignoring the taste and texture. He tries not to remember the last time Sam bought them cheeseburgers. What, a week ago?

What the hell is wrong with him, why can't he stop crying? He swallows the bite and wipes quickly at his face with his flesh hand while it's turned away from Natasha in the driver's seat. He coughs when he swallows because his throat feels tight. His head is still aching. Natasha taps the lid on the drink in the cupholder closest to him and he picks it up and takes a sip. It's Sprite, which he appreciates. His stomach doesn't handle a lot of drinks well. He realizes he's thirsty so he continues sipping. After a while, he quietly thanks her. 

"You're welcome," she says, her eyes on the road. Her own half eaten burger is in it's wrapping, resting on her lap. 

He glances up to see a green sign with white lettering as they head down the highway. He sees a flash of letters, possibly Baltimore, but he doesn't really pay attention.

“Eat the fries,” she tells him. He watches her for a moment, then takes the fries out of the bag. They're still warm, not that it matters. He eats them, staring out the window blankly.

 

It's late afternoon before she stops at a gas station. He's been dozing off, his head jerking up every so often.

“Hurry up and use the bathroom,” she tells him. He nods and opens the door. “Hey,” she says and he stops to look at her. “Do you want anything? A drink?”

He points to the cup from the McDonalds they went to earlier. She rolls her eyes. “It's probably stale now.”

He stares at her, then shrugs. Then he gets out and heads into the gas station.

Inside, he spots a man who looks like Jack Rollins and his heart races. The man looks up and he has brown eyes that take in Bucky's appearance with a raised eyebrow. That's when he realizes he's still got traces of makeup on his face.

He washes his face in the bathroom, scrubbing at it with wet paper towels. Then he returns to the car.

“Here,” Natasha says, handing him a bag. Inside is a Gatorade, a bag of chips, and some make up wipes. He raises an eyebrow.

“For your face?” she gestures to her own face, eyebrows raised. Then she opens her own drink and takes a sip before starting the car up and getting them back on the road.

He contemplates asking where they're going, then decides he doesn't care.

It sinks in that he's driving away from Steve, that Steve is probably hours behind them, and he feels a tinge of panic. He shouldn't be driving away from Steve. Hydra knows where he is – where Steve is. They might have already gotten Sam.

Then he realizes that Natasha would probably have brought this up to Steve. Anyway, it's none of Bucky's business anymore what Steve does. Is it?

He doesn't deserve to pretend to care about Steve.

His chest is one giant dull ache, but he ignores it as he opens the Gatorade and takes a sip. Then he closes it and takes the wipes out. He looks in the mirror as he begins to wipe at the mascara under his eye.

For a few moments, he stares, remembering the concentration on Rollins's face as he applied the eyeliner. How he trembled as Rollins stretched his eyelid with his thumb and Rumlow's eyes burned into him from behind the other man.

He doesn't realize he's sobbing, loud, ugly, harsh gulps of air, until Natasha speaks to him.

“Hey. Bucky.”

He blinks and looks at her. Then he looks away.

She sighs. She doesn't offer any platitudes.

It's not okay. It won't be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, looking back I can't believe I wrote this lol. It's so sad!! I promise the upcoming chapters will not be as horribly sad as the past three were.  
> Yay for Natasha though, right?


	10. Ashley Pulitzer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky goes with Natasha Romanoff to one of her safehouses and tries to cope with the fallout of his choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you like angst, do ya? Lol. Well don't worry, there's plenty more. No more trash though, unless it's a flashback or something.   
> Thank you all for your comments! It's so encouraging to know that someone enjoys my trash haha. 
> 
> This chapter was kind of fun to write because I got to create details about Natasha Romanoff. She's such a fun character to write about, especially creating an alias for her and imagining what her safehouses would look like. I write about another safehouse of hers in my fic 'Where the Ocean Meets the Sky' which also includes Bucky drinking juiced vegetables. I don't know what it is with me and juicing and a recovering Bucky. I just feel like that would be a good way for him to get his nutrients. :)

They stop at a hotel that night. It's a very simple, cheap hotel, with the doors to each room on the outside of the building. Bucky is puzzled, waits wordlessly in the car as Natasha gets out and walks into the lobby. He feels a strange relief once she emerges from the office with their key. She parks the in front of their room and he follows her inside.

 

Natasha immediately plops on one of the twin beds – the one closest in front of the tv on the dresser against the wall - in the room and insists that he'll feel better if he takes a shower.

He does... reluctantly. He doesn't deserve this hot water washing away all of the filth and shame. Then again, maybe the shame will never be washed away and he thinks that's good because he clearly doesn't deserve that.

He takes the plug out to clean himself, but then slides it back in. He's sore but the soreness is welcome.

Bucky, to his own surprise, almost immediately falls asleep on the second bed, though he's curled into a ball with the hoodie still on. He sleeps on top of the blankets, not feeling safe enough to crawl under them. He falls asleep facing the door, on his left side, flesh hand resting on his hip, as close to the knife against his back as he can get it without being obvious.

He wakes up when someone knocks on the door and Natasha is already answering it.

“Pizza's here,” she says. “Hot and ready.” She stares at him when he doesn't smile or say anything. He just blinks and sits up slowly, frowning at the pizza box in her hand. “Okay well maybe it's not hot and ready,” she says. “I don't like Little Caesar's.”

She shrugs when he doesn't say anything and sets the pizza down on the little circular table in the room. There are two chairs by it so Bucky slowly gets up – fighting a wince as the plug shifts in his sore ass – and sits down in one. Natasha takes a paper plate – she found paper plates somewhere – and puts two pieces on it, then goes to sit on the foot of her own bed, eyes on the tv.

He notices that she's watching local news. A car chase ended after a local man robbed a gas station. There's nothing about Hydra.

He thinks of the recording and his stomach twists. Did they put it all over the internet yet? Will they give it to a radio station?

They would. Just so they could laugh about it every time it was mentioned on the news.

The pizza smells both appetizing and nauseating. He picks at pieces of sausage on a slice, nibbling them. He feels a little better after a pepperoni. There's a bottle of Coke on the table too and Natasha even set out a little plastic cup with some ice. He pours himself some and takes a sip.

Bucky remembers the early days of his recovery when leaving food and drinks out wasn't enough for him to eat. Steve practically had to order him to eat...

He finds it harder to eat after that, despite that he is sort of hungry. The Coke helps.

Natasha reaches for the remote and turns the volume on the tv down.

“So, the dress,” she says out of nowhere. He nearly cringes in the chair, keeping his eyes on his plate. He's still picking at his food, eating sausage and cheese here and there. Bread usually sits too heavily in his stomach. “What was that about?”

“That was blackmail,” he said quietly, glancing over to her. Her face is solemn as she eyes him. She doesn't look angry or like she's about to laugh. She merely nods once then looks back at the tv again. She takes a sip from her cup and sets it down on the floor.

“When did they first contact you?”

“About two weeks ago. It was Rollins.”

“How did he contact you?”

“He called me. I don't know how he got my number.”

She nods, her eyes moving to look at him again. He looks back for a moment before looking at the pizza once more.

“He told you that he had the recording. From the war.”

Bucky nods, his fingers still picking at the pizza. He eats another bite of sausage and cheese. The sauce used to give him stomach pains when he first came to live with Steve and Sam.

“And then what happened?”

“Then...” he scoffs. “Then he told me if I didn't want Steve to find out, I'd do what he said. He had the camera there, already set up in the living room.”

“The one near the door?”

He looks up at her. “Was there another one?”

She shakes her head. “Not that I found. I was just making sure.”

He nods and looks at his plate again.

“He called me while Steve was out. Then about a week later he um, he made me come to his place. At first it was just him. Then the second time, Rumlow was there.”

“He made you wear the dress and the makeup.”

Bucky nods. He's relieved that she seems to get it.

“You told Steve you went to a club like that.”

He nods again, letting out a soft huff. “I... I couldn't tell him. I wasn't... I was going to, I just wasn't...”

It sounds so pathetic and week.

“I'd remembered about it a couple weeks before,” he forces himself to look up at her, swallowing.

“I know I should have told him right away but... I knew it would hurt him.” He looks back at the plate, then wipes his hand off on a napkin before crumpling the napkin up and dropping it on the plate. He can't eat anymore.

Natasha merely nods when he looks at her again. She turns the volume back up and doesn't ask any more questions. He feels relieved. Grateful.

She must have seen the text messages on the phone. Steve probably showed them...

He swallows and his stomach twists. He feels sick at the thought of Steve seeing those messages, the pictures... His eyes feel hot but he breathes in slowly and blinks, ignoring the wetness.

He finally gets up and throws the paper plate away, then closes the pizza box and finishes his cup of Coke.

He lies awake for a few hours, watching the news. Then he rolls over to face the door again and somehow, when he closes his eyes, he goes to sleep.

 

The morning is more of the same – Natasha presents a box of donuts and a little cup of coffee. This woman seems to live and breathe on American junk food which would be amusing if he could bring himself to care about anything.

“Where are we going?” he finally asks.

“Safehouse,” she tells him. “I have some business to attend to.”

He doesn't ask her to elaborate when she decides to be mysterious and if she's disappointed at that, she doesn't say anything about it. He feels guilty that there's so much leftover pizza, but Natasha tuts and shakes her head.

“We can take it with us. It'll be fine.”

He would make a face – Bucky never learned to like cold pizza – but that feels ungrateful, so he just eats another glazed donut. It's all so sugary and he's glad the coffee is plain black.

 

* * *

 

 

They take the remaining pizza and donuts with them and around noon, they stop at a rest stop to snack on them. Natasha throws bits of donut to pigeons and Bucky just watches quietly, shaking his head.

She smirks at him and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

He shrugs.

Steve would say she's wasting good food, but... Steve isn't here.

“Shouldn't encourage them,” he mutters. He almost expects her to tell him 'Fuck you.' He isn't sure why. But she just smirks and tosses some more little pieces of donut. He almost wishes he had his cell phone so he could take a picture of the Black Widow and her little troop of pigeons. 'An army,' he would joke.

But Steve has his phone.

Bucky swallows, wishing the ache in his chest would go away. He shifts and the plug shifts in him, making him fight another wince. It's a welcome distraction. He knows that it's sick, keeping the plug in himself when it came from Rollins, but... Well, who cares?

Bucky is fucked up. That isn't ever going change.

 

They finally arrive at what Bucky strongly suspects is a beach community for retired people.

“We're going to the beach?” he wonders aloud. Natasha smirks when she looks at him.

“Where did you think we were going?”

'Is this where you shoot me in the back of the head and dump my body?' He can't help thinking it. He just doesn't say it. It's almost comical enough to make him laugh, but in a hysterical way.

He looks out at the scene in puzzlement. He blinks against the moisture collecting in his eyes.

“I told you I'm taking you to a safehouse.”

He swallows. His eyes feel hot.

“Why?” he asks, not looking at her, hiding his face with his hair. His hands ball into fists.

She's silent for a moment. He glances up to see that she's looking out at the road, her expression pensive as she slows the vehicle for two kids who run across the street with a ball. One is a girl who waves. Natasha smiles a little and waves back. When the kids have safely crossed, she gently presses on the accelerator.

“Steve couldn't have you around. He knew that he might do something bad if he did.”

His heart twists but he's grateful. Natasha doesn't sugarcoat things.

“He's angry right now.”

“He has every right to be,” he says, his voice thick.

“You didn't remember until recently, did you?”

He sighs, looking out the window. “About a month ago.” He nods, blinking to glance at her. She meets his gaze and he sees sympathy there. It's rare from her, but he still doesn't like it so he frowns and looks away.

“You feel sorry for me.”

“I do.”

That's the nice thing about Natasha – no bullshit. No platitudes.

“Well don't. I don't deserve it.”

Her phone buzzes and she frowns.

“Really?” she sighs as she turns left onto another street. They pass several large beachfront houses. Bucky scowls, hoping none of these are the safehouse – they're fucking indefensible for a start. If Hydra comes he might as well just offer up his ass.

Might as well do that anyway, really.

'No. No, we are not giving in to Hydra. That's what they want. That's what this was all for.'

He should have known, he thinks bitterly. They really got him good. They had him dancing for a dangling carrot and they knew it.

Now they have more videos of him. Videos of him begging and moaning and crying.

He'll make them pay.

'Make them pay? This is your fault. You deserve this.'

True, that he does.

But he can still burn Hydra to the fucking ground and enjoy it. Really it was what he should have been doing all along, instead of living off of Rogers and Wilson.

Things are better this way-

'The fuck they are. You broke Steve's heart, you piece of shit. Stop trying to escape that.'

He had. He broke his best friend – really, his only friend's heart.

He'll destroy Hydra. It's the least he can do.

 

He then realizes that Natasha is talking on her phone and has been. She rolls her eyes as she waits for a car to pass, checks the street and then smoothly whips the wheel so that they're sliding up to parallel park in front of a smaller beach house. This one is on the other side of the street across from the ocean front houses, facing them. It's one story, surrounded by bushes on most sides and rests on a pair of stilts. He already likes it.

Even if it could just be annihilated with a single RPG. _That thing would go up like fucking paper too - whoosh!_

 _'Marshmallow time!'_ he hears Rumlow's voice in his head and his teeth clench. The fucking bastard.

He glares at Natasha who raises an eyebrow at him. Then he softens his gaze and looks down.

“Sam,” she says softly. Bucky looks up. “He's fine. I promise. No, I'm _not_ bringing him back.”

His eyes close and he shakes his head.

Sam Wilson is too damn good for his own good. Just like Steve, really. Those two were made for eachother.

His heart twists when he remembers the hug he and Steve shared in that damn dress, with the plug inside of him and... His teeth clench again. He should never have touched Steve like that, with Rollins's cum inside of him. Bucky is filthy. He never should have laid his hands on Steve.

He waits until Natasha calms Sam down and hangs up, then raises an eyebrow.

“Come on,” she gestures. “Let's go inside.”

He steps out, breathing in the salty air.

“Where are we?”

“North Carolina,” she groans as she stands on her feet and stretches her legs. “Atlantic Beach.”

“Nice,” he says quietly, looking around. “Vacation community?”

“Vacation, retirement, yeah that sort of thing.” She shuts her door then goes to the trunk, popping it open to haul a duffel bag out. She points to the other duffel bag inside and he frowns, but hauls it out. It feels heavy in the good way that suggests there are weapons inside and he almost grins. Then he feels slightly sick at the fact that he's getting a fucking buzz from picking up a bag of weapons.

'Oh come on, like you're righteous.'

“In we go,” she says. “If we get any questions, my name is Ashley Pulitzer-”

He snorts.

“What?” she smirks. “And I'm a novelist relaxing at my aunt's-”

“What books have you published?”

She grins over her shoulder. “You'll see...”

 

There are _actual_ _novels_ in the house. They line some of the shelves. He stares in awe at the bindings before sliding one out. He blinks several times and looks at her.

“They're... tripe really,” she does look smug though as she drops her duffel bag on the floor. “Anyway, I'm Ashley Pulitzer, divorcee and novelist-”

“And cat lover,” he gives a raised eyebrow at the cat pawing at the back door of the kitchen. He or she is a tabby, caramel colored. She opens the door and the cat trots inside.

“And cat lover,” she nods, looking down with satisfaction as the cat rubs against her ankles. “This is Snickers by the way.”

“Snickers?” he wrinkles his nose. “I'm sorry to hear that,” he gives the cat a look of sympathy. The cat merely looks up at him with green eyes full of curiosity as his tail kinks.

“It wasn't my choice. He's actually the neighbor's cat. The neighbor is the delightful Mrs. Evelyn Winters.”

“Winters,” he smirks. “Nice.”

“She's a champion everything and I mean _everything_. Award winning pie maker, model citizen, etc. She is actually delightful, also,” Natasha's lips curl at the corners in a little smile. “And you are...?” she raises her eyebrows.

“I'm your scumbag cousin Lamar Wilbanks.”

“You are not Lamar Wilbanks.”

“Why can't I be Lamar Wilbanks?”

“You don't look like a Lamar.”

He sighs extravagantly and she smirks.

“Try Austin.”

“Austin Wilbanks,” he says. He shrugs.

“Why Wilbanks?”

“Well I can't be Pulitzer because I'm your _cousin_.”

“I guess that makes sense. But why specifically Wilbanks?”

He shrugs. “Just the first thing that popped into my head.”

She shrugs, mimicking him.

“I'm also an alcoholic,” he calls as he spots a liquor cabinet.

“You are not an alcoholic,” she gives him a look but it's partly in jest. He smirks. Then his humor fades and he looks away. He was almost able to forget.

She doesn't say anything, but she leads him down a narrow hall.

“Here,” she says. “Let me show you around.”

He follows her down the hall and finds there are three bedrooms.

“So do you pay for this house with the novels?”

She nods. “But I also inherited it from my great aunt Lily Poston.”

“Does everyone in the family have P surnames?”

“Not my beloved cousin Austin.”

“Sorry for ruining the tradition. Can I be white trash?”

“No, you are not white trash. Nobody is white trash in this family.”

“But I wanna work on your 'stang and wear a wifebeater.”

“You touch my 'stang and I kill you.”

“Figures,” he shakes his head. “Why am I living with you if I'm not handy?”

“You're down on your luck,” she nods. “And your wife kicked you out for _not_ being an alcoholic.”

“Makes perfect sense.”

“There's food in the fridge. I'm taking the bedroom down the hall, you can take the first front room.”

He nods. Makes sense. She knows he likes to be able to watch the road. She can watch the back of the house.

He takes that as the dismissal it is. She probably wants some 'alone time' after being in the car with a depressed person for hours.

He steps into the front room and exhales. It's late afternoon. He contemplates going for a walk on the beach.

He contemplates walking forever into the ocean. Not a bad way to go actually. Maybe some hermit crab could live in his metal arm.

Then he collapses on the side of the bed facing the window. He winces as it jars the plug, then slowly relaxes against the bed. The room is decorated in some kitschy nautical theme. He'll survive it.

It doesn't feel like home, but it does feel safe. For now, anyway.

“Ashley Pulitzer,” he muses, shaking his head. It makes him smile a little. Figures, Natasha Romanov would secretly be some corny writer. Then again, he frowns, maybe her books are actually worth reading?

He'll have to sneak a peek at one but he will not allow her to catch him reading it. Not even dead.

He wonders if this is why she brought him here. He doesn't doubt she has other, less interesting safehouses. The thought that she meant this to be therapeutic both touches and irritates him. He doesn't deserve 'therapeutic.'

Suddenly agitated, he stands up and walks down the hall to her room. He gently raps on the doorway though he can see she's sitting on the bed and looking out the window. Feeling a little guilty for bothering her, he hesitates before knocking.

She turns to look at him, eyebrows rising.

“I um...” he sees her room has more of a subdued floral theme. He doesn't know how to begin to speak but forces himself to look into her eyes. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“You're welcome,” she says quietly. Her eyes are soft, but not sympathetic. She looks peaceful.

He feels jealous.

“I don't want to just sit on my ass anymore,” he tells her. “I... I need to fight them. They're always going to come after me. I knew that before,” he rushes on. “But I let Steve convince me I needed to hide. I don't want to hide anymore.”

She sighs but she doesn't look about to argue. For a moment she looks out the window again, her fingers picking at the white painted frame.

“I know,” she says. “I had a feeling you'd feel that way.” Her lips quirk in a smile at her own phrasing as she looks at him. “But I can't just let you run off.”

He shakes his head, fighting the part of him that wants to tell her 'Fuck you, you're not telling me what to do.'

“I'm not going to run off. I know I need your help. I can't fight them on my own,” his eyes lower before glancing back up into hers. “So help me. Let me fight with you.”

She eyes him quietly. For a moment, she looks just like a young, curious girl. Then her eyes settle into the calm, blank expression he knows best.

“Very well,” she nods. She raises her hands above her head like a genie and wiggles. “As you command.”

He snorts, frowning at first with disbelief. Then he shakes his head at her antics and turns to head back down the hall. She'll do things on her own time if she's serious about it.

Or she could just string him along and have him eventually hoping for combat while he 'recuperates.' Yuck. He hope she isn't willing to play that low. Of course she is, she's the fucking Black Widow.

But if she's feeling merciful, maybe she'll help him find some intel.

He frowns when he arrives back in his room. He's feeling hungry and tired. He needs to get back into training.

 

Bucky goes into the kitchen and makes himself a sandwich. He eats it alone at the table, hearing the shower running a few minutes later.

Then he snatches one of the Pulitzer novels from the shelf and hurries back into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. It almost makes him smile, mischieviously. He sets the book inside the drawer of the night table next to the queen size bed. He thinks of the night table at home. He thinks about the notebook inside – his journal. He didn't really write much in it and there certainly won't be anything Steve will find that interesting. There's nothing about Hydra. He feels a small semblance of relief, even though he didn't – doesn't have anything to hide anymore.   
He lies on the bed on his side. His ass is still stretched by the plug. He finds the throb of it soothing and a shudder works up his spine. He deserves to feel pain.   
Then again, maybe he doesn't deserve this pain because it alleviates the ache in his chest.

Probably time to take it out anyway. His bowels are beginning to make the signal that he'll need to expel soon. And _that_ isn't going to be any fun.

He gets up, suddenly moving gingerly. Then he heads into the bathroom across the hall and closes the door behind him. Natasha's room has its own bathroom and her shower is still running. He could probably do with a shower himself.

He cringes for a moment, wondering if she could smell him... smell _them_ on him.

Oh God, could Steve?

With a swallow, he slowly slides the jeans and underwear down his hips. He spreads his feet and crouches slightly, flesh hand resting on the counter for support. Then he begins to work the plug out with his metal hand.

Tears sting his eyes and he gasps.

'Yeah, this? You deserve this.'

He shudders and nearly throws it away from him. It has blood on it. Not much, but it's still there.

He rinses off the plug, then hesitates as he's about to throw it in the trash. He doesn't want Romanov to see it.

Some part of him also thinks he should keep it. That he could punish himself some more.

His cock is swelling and he feels a rush of loathing.

'Whore. This is what you are. You're a whore.'

He forces himself to look into his reflection.

_'Whore. Traitor. Murderer.'_

Coward.

He puts it in the pocket of the sweatpants, then goes to sit on the toilet. It takes nearly half an hour but he finally shits and of course it's miserable.

He lets himself cave in a little. Then he strips and washes himself. The shower isn't soothing – the sound of the faucet is unsettling and he doesn't like the sensation of water on his scalp.

Afterward, he pulls the same clothes back on and heads back to his bedroom. He hears Natasha moving around in her own room but feels relieved when he doesn't see her as he closes his door behind him.

He contemplates her as he goes to sit on the bed. Bucky winces while he sits slowly, pretzel style. He bites his lower lip and looks down at his sneakered feet.

He's already getting sand on the bed. He kicks the shoes off, letting them drop on the floor, then lies down on his side. The hoodie is warm and he can lose himself in it's bulk.

It smells like Steve.

He scrambles out of it and is about to throw it across the room when he stops.

Bucky sits looking at it and feels the tears welling up. He wants to bury his nose in it. He wants to forget.

'No. You don't get to.'

“You don't deserve to,” he manages, his vision blurred. His fingers clench in the hoodie, but he doesn't tear it. He can't.

So he sighs instead, hating himself. Hating his grief, because he doesn't deserve it. Hating his tears because they make him self indulgent as well as pathetic. He ends up burying his face in it all the same.

 

* * *

 

 

It turns out there are clothes there already in the closet of his bedroom – probably Barton's judging from the pizza stains and dog hairs. He's met the beast known as Lucky. It doesn't bother him wearing Barton's clothes though they are, to his amusement and chagrin, almost too small for him. Natasha smirks when he shows up in the kitchen the next morning.

“Where are you going?” she eyes him. There's orange juice and some kind of green stuff too. He makes a face at it. “Try some.”

He pours some into a glass and sniffs, then sips it. He tastes kale, apples, possibly carrots, definitely pears.

“It's good. And I was gonna go jogging... if... that's okay.” He hates the timid note in his voice.

“Not with your arm out.” She frowns. He nods.

“I'll steal one of Barton's sweaters. By the way he and his dog have an unhealthy relationship.”

She smirks.

“I won't argue with that.”

He winks at her, then sips the juice.

“Old Saint Nick is coming for a visit.”

He freezes, frowning. Old Saint...

For a second he thinks of Pierce in the Santa hat and he feels a trill of panic. No. She's not talking about Pierce.

'Calm the fuck down. Pierce is dead.'

Besides Natasha would never be so cruel, even to one... Well _maybe_ to someone who hurt her friends. But no, she wouldn't inflict that on him.

She obviously considers him a friend or he wouldn't be alive. He certainly wouldn't be in her safehouse drinking juice right now.

It warms his heart, even though he doesn't deserve it.

She's giving him a raised eyebrow. The other one rises in expectation. 

“Oh!” it clicks. God, he really has slipped... He snorts, shaking his head, then frowns. She smirks at him and shakes her own head, going to sit down at her little dining table. The cat is sitting in the chair next to hers.

“He's coming here? When?”

“A few days. You never know exactly when Saint Nick will blow through, but...”

“You know that's creepy, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “Really? The _Winter Soldier_ is telling _me_ my word choice is creepy.?”

He smirks. “Take it as a compliment, I guess?”

“I will.”

He nods, then turns toward the door.

“Oh by the way, I got you some deodorant and stuff. Hair ties. Tooth brush. It's all in the bathroom.”

“Yeah I saw,” he smiles at her. “Thanks. You're a regular mother hen.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Don't you dare tell anyone. About any of this. I mean it!”

“Yeah yeah, I'm gonna go post it on Facebook. Everybody needs to see this kitchy living room!” He gestures toward it with both arms, then heads out the front door.

He stands outside, listening for a moment, inhaling the subtle, salty sea air.

For a moment he feels calm. Almost... free.

Then he starts to feel a slowly rising panic. He just rushed outside and Hydra could be out there, waiting for him.

He remembers the way Steve nearly threw him outside onto the pavement, still wearing a dress and heels. He swallows.

Did they see that? Did they laugh at him?

How much did they see on the camera in the living room? Did they laugh while...

It doesn't matter, he thinks as he closes his eyes. He deserved it. If they laughed at him, so much the better.

He just hates the thought of them laughing at Steve too. Steve, who never deserved that.

He thinks of the skinny little guy whose shoulder he used to rest an arm on and his heart twists. Shaking his head, he fights the image of Steve sitting at his kitchen table, a hand covering his face, and he begins to jog.

 

He checks before crossing the street. His eyes scan the area around him. Bucky pulls the hood over his head and feels fortunate that it's overcast. It's not too cold here in Atlantic Beach, North Carolina – actually it's sort of a humid day for late autumn. Bucky doesn't even know if he's ever been to North Carolina before. Seems like a nice place, actually. Definitely a good hiding spot. Natasha always knew how to pick her safehouses.

He feels the smallest, strangest rush of pride and affection for her. He can't believe his luck, knowing so many good people.

'You don't deserve her.'

He pushes the thoughts of worthiness away. The asset didn't make judgments on his worth. Well he did sometimes, but weapons aren't supposed to...

His jogging slows as he reaches the beachfront.

A woman in her thirties jogging by smiles at him and he smiles slightly in turn and nods. He continues on his path down the beach, walking at first, then moving back into a steady pace. It will be good to work up a sweat.

He glances out at the horizon, looking over the ocean. The sounds of the waves smoothly crashing against the shore are relaxing. The sea itself seems subdued.

His ass is sore and his hips are still horribly stiff from being plowed into and then sitting in a car for hours. He slows and takes a moment to stretch. Bending over and reaching for his toes, he starts to feel a rush of panic and jerks up, looking behind him.

There's no one there. But for a moment he could have sworn someone was walking up-

He thinks of Rumlow stepping up behind him and closes his eyes tightly. Bucky breathes in the scent of the sea air and turns his face toward the ocean. He opens his eyes and looks out at the horizon again and for a moment he feels so dizzy that he slips down to rest on his knees.

The sand is soft under his scraped knee. He remembers Steve throwing him to the pavement again and something cracks in his chest.

A soft, dry sob escapes his lips and the tears well up again.

Gritting his teeth, he shakes his head and breathes deeply several times, in through his nose, then out through his lips.

He finally makes his way up onto his feet. When he feels steady enough, he wipes his face with his sleeve, then continues on his way. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have some Steve perspective, just for fun.


	11. Reconaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is devastated by Bucky's betrayal. Sam thinks there's more to the story. Meanwhile, Natasha tries to help Bucky adjust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been forever since I updated. I'm taking classes at a uni and working so lately I've been super busy.   
> Anyway, here's an update for you guys :) As always, your comments mean a lot to me!   
> We get to hear from Steve in this chapter. 
> 
> Warnings: Angst, flashbacks/PTSD, and suicidal ideation.

Steve rubs at his face as he wakes.

The memories of the night before sink into him, weighing him down, as he opens his eyes and looks around the bedroom.

He can hear Sam up already in the living room. He's cooking and humming, but there's no music playing this time. Some mornings, Marvin Gaye would play while he made breakfast, when it was his turn.

Bucky tried a few times and he would also listen to music while he cooked. He'd usually burn stuff but when Sam helped-

Steve takes a breath, feeling the ache behind his lungs and shaking his head. He closes his eyes tightly.

No. He will not think of that _traitor_ right now.

Pushing himself up, he breathes in again slowly, then exhales.

The evening prior is a blur. Natasha came and spoke to him while he was sitting at the table.When he didn't respond, she said his name more sternly and he looked up at her and stared.

He had the hardest time speaking. He had to choke up the words somehow to tell her that Bucky was a traitor.

That the man he'd spent the past months tirelessly working – alongside poor Sam, no less – to help recover and bring back to the world had secretly been laughing at them all and was now hiding in his fucking spare room.

It _had_ been Bucky's room.

 

She'd stared at him in disbelief. Then she sat down across from him.

“He betrayed you.” The words sounded foreign on her tongue, her eyes searching his face. He'd swallowed, managed to speak again.

“He... they called me.”

“Who?”

“Hydra. Rumlow.”

She shakes her head. “Where is he? Where's Bucky?”

“He's in his room. I... Natasha, I wanted to kill him.”

“How do you know they're... Did he admit to this?”

Steve had nodded. He'd still been having a hard time wrapping his mind around it.

“Yes. Yes he did. They... they a had a recording.”

He'd told her about the recording over the phone – how it sounded genuine. How Bucky had responded. How he'd tried to make excuses about not remembering things.

“Maybe he really didn't remember until recently,” Natasha had frowned. He hadn't been able to believe it – her of all people, buying into Bucky's lies. It was all Steve's fault. He'd let himself trust the Soldier.

Natasha had agreed to take Bucky somewhere safe and had gone into his bedroom to tell him to pack up. When she came back out, she'd insisted he call Sam over.

“I'm fine,” he said. “He doesn't need to be bothered-”

“Steve. I'm not leaving you alone like this.”

He'd hated it, but she'd turned out to be right as usual. Still... how had even Natasha been won over by Bu- by the Soldier?

 

He now rises from his bed and pads into the hallway. For a moment, he eyes the door of Bucky's room left hanging open.

He looks down the hall toward the living room. He can hear Sam in the kitchen, humming, but can't see him yet. His humming sounds tired instead of cheerful like it usually does.

With a sigh, Steve steps into Bucky's room.

He stops at the sight of the heels lying on the floor. The dress. The... The _fucking panties_.

He left them here. Just left them on the fucking floor like an animal.

He clenches his teeth, remembering the hug they shared the first time Bucky returned dressed like that.

Steve can't remember feeling more like he's having a heart attack.

He grabs the heels, snatches the dress up with a snarl, grabs the hose... then he stops at the panties. His face twists in disgust. He tosses the other clothes on top of them and then storms out of the bedroom into the kitchen.

“Hey, ma...n,” Sam watches as Steve goes directly past him to the pantry and yanks it open. He sees the box of garbage bags, then yanks one out and turns, sweeping past his confused friend again and heading back down the hall.

“Well, I made some eggs,” Sam calls. “And bacon.”

“Thanks,” Steve replies and steps back into the bedroom. He stuffs the heels in first, then pauses, staring at the dress.

It fit him tightly. It's hot pink.

“I just like dressing this way,” he'd said. Bucky had been acting squirrelly. Steve thought maybe he was just exploring his gender or his sexuality or whatever they called it these days. But no, Bucky picked out this dress – or did _they_ pick it out? Had Rumlow dressed him like this and sent him home to Steve, knowing Bucky would take Steve into his arms? Had he _seen_ them, curled up together on the couch, through that fucking _camera?_

'Went to a club,' he scoffs. 'Should have known.'

He takes in a shuddery breath and his features twist bitterly as he throws the dress into the bag.

That's what he gets for trusting the man. Hadn't he learned his lesson back at the Triskelion? Everyone tried to warn him about Bucky, but he didn't listen.

But they'd all warned him that Bucky wasn't the same guy Steve once knew and loved. Whereas now Steve realized that man had never existed to begin with.

_Traitor._

No. That couldn't be true. Bucky had been good and loyal _once_ , right? In Brooklyn, he'd been Steve's best friend – Steve's only friend at times. Then during the war he'd seemed strange after Zola's table but Steve had just thought it was because of what he'd been through...

But Bucky had been different after that. Maybe this was Steve's fault. He should have noticed...

 

He grabs the hose, tossing them in, then stops at the bra. He picks it up with his finger and thumb by the strap then drops it into the bag. Then he takes the panties the same way and tosses them in with a look of disgust.

'Bastard,' he thinks, throwing the bag down. 'You fucking _bastard._ '

He raises his hands to grip at his own head but stops them halfway. After staring at them for a moment, he storms into the bathroom and washes them furiously with hot, hot water and soap.

He looks up when he finishes to realize that his face is wet.

He sighs, closing his eyes. Then he turns the water on again but it's cold this time as he washes his face.

He dries off, pleased to find himself breathing steadily again. As he steps out into the bedroom, his eyes fall to the bed.

He remembers when Bucky first came to live with him and Sam; he was so quiet and skittish. Bucky refused to sleep on the bed, choosing instead to sleep in this bathroom, on the tile floor for some godforsaken reason. Steve had always imagined it was because the bathroom was like a cave – only one exit to defend if it came down to it. Sam had agreed, suggesting Bucky felt vulnerable lying on the bed.

His heart twinges but he ignores it.

He almost wishes he could go back to the days of believing Bucky to be dead. Dead, and having died courageously, still loyal to his friends, his family, his country.

He sighs and heads into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.

 

Breakfast is quiet. Steve drinks his coffee and picks at his bacon and eggs.

“Thanks,” he tells Sam while turning his phone back on. He finally shut it off the night before, when they – Rumlow – kept texting him and sending him things.

“For what?” Sam raises an eyebrow. “Figured it was my turn to make breakfast.”

“Well,” Steve shrugs. “I um...” he sighs and wishes he hadn't destroyed his phone so he'd have something to fiddle with. He looks up at Sam. “Thank you for being there. Yesterday.” His throat is embarrassingly tight so he swallows. “You know.”

He looks down at his phone again.

“I'm so sorry you've had to deal with-”

“Don't. Finish that sentence,” Sam points a finger at him. “You're my friend, Steve.”

The blond smiles a little. Then he has to cover his mouth with a hand because he chokes.

Embarrassed, he covers his face with both hands.

“Steve,” Sam's voice is gentle as the blond focuses on his breathing.

He sniffs and looks up.

“Yeah?”

“Natasha told me they're in North Carolina, at a safehouse. He's-”

“I don't want to know,” he holds up a hand. “Sorry.”

He looks up after a while, noting that Sam has started moving his own dishes to the sink – Steve washes up when Sam or Bucky cooks. He closes his eyes, trying not to picture Bucky at the counter, helping Sam wash up whenever Steve cooked. Opening his eyes, he thinks maybe it would be good to stay at Stark Tower – Avenger's Tower – for a while. At least so he won't be surrounded by memories of... him.

'He Who Shall Not Be Named,' he thinks with a grim stretch of his lips and a 'tsuh.'

“What is it?” Sam turns to look at him, leaning back against the counter and sipping his coffee. Steve glances up then looks at his coffee mug.

“Nothing. Tony invited us to stay at the tower a while ago.”

“Honestly, that sounds-”

“Really good, yeah, I agree,” Steve looks up at him. Sam looks pleasantly surprised. “God, Sam.”

“Don't, Steve.”

“I am. I'm sorry-”

“It's not your fault-”

“There was a fucking _camera_ on our wall – how did I not see that?” He shakes his head. “You all tried to warn me about him – I was so blind!”

“Well, we were all blind.”

“No. You and Natasha, you tried to warn me. So did Tony. I didn't listen to any of you. And this is what I get.”

“Hey, man. We all thought Barnes was coming around-”

“Coming around? He was never coming around. He was never even on the same page as the rest of us,” Steve's voice chokes off. He buries his face in his hands again. “I'm sorry,” he manages.

He can't stop picturing the Bucky he knew before the war. He can't stop thinking the same thing he that occurred to him earlier in the bedroom when he was throwing those fucking clothes into a garbage bag – was he _ever_ loyal to Steve?

Surely he had been. Surely before the war...

Bucky had worked so hard to make ends meet. He'd never treated Steve like a burden, even though Steve knew he was, had to be.

He lets out a sob, unable to stop himself.

“Steve,” Sam sounds hurt. Then he feels Sam's hand settle on his shoulder and he shakes his head.

“God, Sam...”

The other man rubs his shoulder, gently squeezing.

“I'm so sorry, man.”

“No,” Steve shakes his head. “It's my fault... I was so stupid.” He grits his teeth and pounds a fist on the table. “I'm always so fucking stupid. So trusting! I should have known. God, why didn't I see it even then? He was always... always strange, always dark. After...” he looks up at Sam. “After what happened at Azzano. But I guess even that was a guise. He'd probably...” Steve sucks in a breath, looking off toward the counter. “Probably even betrayed us back then. Turned his back on his own men. What if that was all just a set up? To make us think...”

“Steve,” Sam's voice is clear and strong and it's the only thing that makes sense in his world. Steve looks up at him, sniffling. “You don't know any of that, man. Stop thinking about that. Stop torturing yourself. And for God's sake, don't _blame_ yourself for this.”

Steve sighs and nods.

“I know... it's like what you said about... about the STRIKE team. But...” he shakes his head. “It's _Bucky_ , God, Sam...”

The other man sighs, rubbing his shoulder again.

“I'm gonna go pack, okay?” Sam tells him. “You should too. It'll be good to head up to spend some time out of here.”

Steve nods. He'll need to pack the file on the Winter Soldier. Though, why he isn't sure.

Hydra already knows more about Bucky Barnes than he ever did. 

 

* * *

 

 

**Bucky**

 

He's been trying to make sense of it. Because now that he really thinks about it none of it makes any fucking sense.

Sitting on the beach, staring off at the waves, he's starting to get a sense of clarity, of reality again.

The fingers of his flesh hand sift through the sand. He's gotten it under his finger nails but he doesn't care. The metal arm, on the other hand – it's gonna be a bitch to get the sand out of the grooves later. But it'll give him something to do at least, he muses with a wry smile.

Strange. He was hardly busy before but now it feels like he has all the time in the world. At the same time, he knows that time is running out on him.

He has to find them. Rumlow and Rollins. He can't let them escape. Not just because of what they've done to him – fuck him, what they did to _Steve_ – but because of what they're capable of.

His 'reputation' – ha, his reputation, that's funny – doesn't matter. If they post everything to the internet... he takes a deep breath and exhales. It doesn't matter. The whole world was already going to hate him anyway and he should have known that the minute he turned the knobs on that fucking wireless radio and got in contact with his worst enemies.

Coward. _Traitor._

He turns his head and spits so that the wind carries it away. Might as well spit into it, really. He deserves all the spit on his face. Spit and cum and...

He shakes his head, eyes closing tightly. His metal hand digs into the sand along with his flesh fingers and he uses it to anchor him.

He's here. On a beach. Sitting on the sand.

Anchor, that's an interesting thought. He looks up at the waves.

What would it be like to sink to the bottom? It would be cold, no doubt. It might be like going into cryo.

He could close his eyes, exhale all the air from his lungs, inhale salt water.

It would burn. His brain would burn for oxygen. But it wouldn't be like the way it was with the water pouring into his mouth.

He gasps, thinking about it and closes his eyes, shaking his head.

“Hey man, you okay?”

He looks up to see a skinny teenage boy with curly brown hair. His brown eyes are sharp but squinting in the cloudy daylight. Something about the set of his brows reminds Bucky of himself as a kid.

The boy has a ribcage that almost reminds him of Steve's when he was younger, but this kid is too healthy, too tall, and too well fed to have ever been like Steve Rogers in the thirties.

He feels a pang and notices the kid is holding a short surfboard.

He looks up at the kid, then back down at the sand.

“I'm fine,” he grumbles after a moment.

“Cool. Whatever.” The kid says then walks away. When Bucky glances up again, the boy is with a girl and another boy and the kids are heading into the surf. 

Bucky envies them. Their youth, their freedom, their innocence. He sighs and stands up, brushing the sand off of his hands. 

Time to go back... home? He supposes it is home now. 

 

Three days pass before 'ol Saint Nick' makes an appearance. Bucky prefers to think of it as 'the Resurrection.' It's funnier than 'St Nick' in his opinion anyway.

He steps in from his usual morning jog and finds Natasha talking with the infamous former director of SHIELD. Bucky's gotten a tan and his hair is starting to act like it used to - curling up due to the salt water he keeps getting in it. He actually took a swim in the ocean the day before, figuring why not? He even has facial hair coming in, which Natasha has taken to teasing him about. 

He freezes in the doorway. Fury was just talking but has fallen silent. Bucky doesn't know why he was expecting the man to sweep in late at night in his trademark trench coat and eyepatch. He is wearing the eyepatch, of course, but he also has on an actual polo shirt and a windbreaker, like some old fart on vacation. His stomach twists as he thinks of Pierce and he glances down at the floor, breathing in through his nose deeply.

Fury is sitting on the sofa and the cat is on his lap. He's rising to stand as Bucky steps into the living room and the cat leaps to the floor to scurry away.

As Bucky moves further into the room and toward the kitchen, the older man sits back down and Bucky sees Natasha standing in the kitchen, a bowl of salad before her on the counter.

For a few moments, he looks at Natasha, then he looks back to Fury who is eyeing him with a sharp expression. He looks back down at the floor.

“So... we finally meet again,” Fury says. Bucky looks up at him, brows furrowing.

“Yeah. Guess so.”

“That all you have to say?” Fury raises his eyebrows.

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky tilts his head to the side, but lifts his chin.

Fury huffs and looks to Natasha. Bucky glances to her and she's raising her eyebrows at Fury.

The older man shakes his head and his good eye fixes on Bucky again.

“The Winter Soldier, wintering at the beach.”

“Not exactly my ideal vacation destination,” Bucky replies wryly, shifting his shoulder so that the metal plates recalibrate. Fury, to his surprise, doesn't twitch or startle the way Sam Wilson and Steve sometimes do.

The man chuckles and glances down at his metal hand before looking back up at him.

His gaze is steady, penetrating, so Bucky finally looks down again.

 _Submit_.

“You missed me, you know.”

He glances up, frowning.

“Nick,” Natasha snorts, as she goes back to making her salad. Her movements are relaxed.

“It's true. If he'd done his damn job properly, I'd actually _be_ in that grave of mine.”

“Are you complaining?” Bucky lifts an eyebrow, eyeing the older man. Fury snorts.

“Don't worry, Barnes. I don't hold it against you.”

“I'm sorry about the rough break up,” he can't help it even though he feels Natasha's warning glare. “I heard you guys were real close. Never meant to get caught up in such a nasty divorce.”

“Yeah, well,” Fury's stare has darkened. “It seems like everybody's breaking up these days, right?”

Yep. He deserves that. It stings and it gets his blood beating faster in his chest, but it feels good. One corner of his lips actually stretches and he smiles.

Fury doesn't return it.

“Is that what Hydra is?” Fury muses. “One big happy family?"

“Nick,” Natasha's tone holds a note of warning but it's still the indulgent sort of warning reserved for a grandfather.

“Sure,” Bucky shrugs. “An extended family. In your Congress. In your Oval office,” he sneers. “Right under your nose. The whole time. That burn you up, Fury?”

“Not anymore. I'm the one startin' shit these days, Barnes.”

“Oh shut up you two,” Natasha lets out a laugh. Bucky smirks. Then he turns and heads down the hall to his room and his humor fades.

“You better have something besides that rabbit food!” Fury calls at her and she scoffs.

“You'll eat whatever I've got, old man!”

His stomach twists as he thinks of what Fury said about doing his job properly – they wouldn't be laughing in the kitchen if he had now, would they? Bucky steps quickly into his room and sorts through Clint Barton's dog blessed clothing. He shrugs out of his hoodie, a shiver traveling up his skin as his sweat meets the cooler air of the room. He stretches his arm and it recalibrates again. The sound is oddly soothing. He wiggles his fingers rapidly and they shake sand out of the finger joints.

The sand lands on the comforter on the bed and the floor. He peels the sweaty shirt from his skin and sighs, tossing it onto the bed. Another shiver travels up his skin.

His nipples harden as he grabs another of Barton's gray tees from the dresser and shakes off the dog hairs with a wry shake of his head. Several potential teasing comments come to mind and he almost feels a tug of affection for someone he's only met once or twice until he remembers that Barton isn't and will probably never be his friend now because...

Because he doesn't deserve to have friends. He doesn't deserve even the one friend he still has – Natasha – and...

He shrugs off Fury's suspicion – the old man is playing polite for Natasha because it's her house and he respects her. Bucky suspected as much from Fury, because he is a decent man even if he is a paranoid old bastard. But that paranoia kept him alive, didn't it?

He goes into the bathroom and quickly showers, washing the salty sea air and sand from his skin, making sure to rinse it from the vents in his arms.

He quickly dries off, dresses and heads back down the hall.

“Look at you, all tan,” Natasha teases as he steps into the kitchen. There's a salad with tomatoes and avocado – oh fuck, bleh, he can't eat avocado or tomatoes but there's also hamburgers.

He picks out some lettuce and stuffs it onto a burger bun, then tops it with a meat patty. That's it. Bucky can't eat mustard or mayonaisse because if he does, he'll throw up. He can't drink soda either so he ignores the Coke and opts for water.

Too many fucking bad experiences with most food.

Hamburgers are safe, probably because he rarely had a taste of those while under Hydra. He sits down and eats his lettuce burger.

“No cheese?” Natasha lifts an eyebrow.

“Didn't think of it,” he shrugs.

Fury is silently chomping down on another burger. He's sitting across from Bucky while Natasha is to his right. He glances out the back door and watches a bird at a bird feeder before going back to eating.

“Something wrong?” she asks.

He shakes his head, chewing and not looking at Fury. He doesn't know what the old man wants or how much Natasha has told him. He doesn't know what Fury knows about him. The man evidently knows he and Steve had a falling out but he may not know _why_ yet.

If Bucky is lucky, then Natasha kept quiet about the details. If he's not lucky, then Fury already knew about his situation before he came to her safehouse.

He looks up to see Fury watching him and looking amused.

“What?” he mutters. 

"Nothin."

“I'm going somewhere for a few hours.”

“Somewhere?” He looks at Natasha in surprise. She spoke suddenly, quietly. He raises an eyebrow when she looks at him steadily.

Right. She's not telling him. He sighs and nods, picking up his burger again and eating once more. He glances up at her and finds her looking to Fury, eyebrows raised. Bucky slows his chewing and feels his heart sink as he looks at the other man.

“I suppose I could-”

“No,” Bucky says looking to her and quickly swallowing his food. “Natasha-”

“You can't be left on your own right now.”

It hurts and it causes his face to heat. He lowers the burger and sighs looking out the window.

“This is a tasty burger,” Fury says. His eye is definitely lit up with amusement as he looks down at his own plate and Bucky wants to smack the burger out of the older man's hands. But that would just start a whole new level of shit he isn't in the mood for. And while he's positive Fury is armed – there's no way that sonofabitch would show up without _at least one_ pistol on him – he isn't exactly sure what the man is packing. Bucky realizes with regret that he has a total of zero weapons on him. Did Barton perchance leave any knives in his room? Did Natasha?

Barton probably isn't the sort to leave knives in his room. Bucky will have to check the bed frame and the closet later. Not that he's worried about old Nick Fury – not that he's stupid enough to confuse the man for harmless either, even if he does look like somebody's embarrassing golf dad in that get up he's wearing – it's just that Bucky's gotten used to being unarmed and he can't allow this anymore.

Rollins and Rumlow have sealed their fate – so has any other fucking Hydra agent who comes anywhere near him or Natasha.

Which once again brings the question to mind, where _is_ Natasha going?

“If you're going to leave me with Grandpa Nick, can't you at least-”

“No,” her expression is serious.

“Do _not_ call me Grandpa Nick.”

Bucky sighs and gives her a look from under his eyebrows. She rolls her eyes and snorts. Fury is glaring at him with his one good eye.

“Well you're the one stuck babysitting,” he fired back and took another bite of his burger slowly, eyeing Fury.

“I guess that makes you the baby.”

Bucky gives Natasha a scowl.

“Don't look at me that way. I have work to do.”

'Like I don't want to work,' he thinks, frowning at his plate. Then he looks up at Fury.

“You gonna play Scrabble with me, Gramps?”

Natasha covers her lips with a hand briefly, then shakes her head, her eyes on her plate.

Fury gives him a look that would make him laugh but he's determined not to even smile and he's very good at making his expression blank.

“I don't think I have Scrabble,” Natasha speaks and her voice doesn't even quaver, which is admirable.

“What?” Bucky stares at her. “Not even Scrabble?”

“I have Cards Against Humanity.”

“What is that?”

Natasha raises her eyebrows. “We played it once – well maybe you weren't there.” She frowns in thought. “No you were there.”

“I was probably out of it. Was there something about Oprah and Nazis?”

“Yeah,” she smiles and he nods.

“I gotcha.”

“I am not playing any card games. I'm going to watch t.v and he's going to observe his bed time,” Fury says.

“I don't have a bed time, Grampa.”

“I swear to God, if you keep calling me that.”

Natasha sighs and begins to clear her plate and Fury's. He holds up his hands.

“No, no, I got it. You made lunch, you sit down.” He takes the plates and glares at Bucky. “You can take your own plate, _son._ ”

“Aww, he's so sweet. I like him already,” he tells Natasha who gives him a look. “What? I'm behaving. I'll behave. We'll get along great, I'm sure. We can swap stories about the good old days.”

“You gonna tell me about the Howling Commandos, Barnes?” Fury scrapes the plates off into the trash can.

“Fuck you,” he says lightly, but his heart is beating faster again.

“Now now, I won't tolerate that kind of language.” Fury says as he puts the dishes in the sink and begins to wash them by hand. “I don't know what kind of household Captain _Rogers_ ran-”

“I'm done,” Bucky stands and takes his own dish over to the trash can to dump the rest of the food. He doesn't look at Fury as he takes his plate to the other side of the sink, squirts detergent on it and scrubs it before grabbing the spray hose and rinsing it off. He leaves it beside the sink and heads back down the hall.

He hears Natasha and Fury speaking in hushed voices and he rolls his eyes as he heads into his room and closes the door. For a moment, he just sighs and looks at the door knob in his hand. He didn't mean to get...

Is upset even the right word? He needs a dictionary. A fuckin'... _thesaurus?_ That can't be right; it sounds like a dinosaur.

He turns to lie down on his bed and begin reading the novel but there is an intruder. A small, furry intruder looking at him with wide eyes from between the pillows. He gives it a look with a raised eyebrow.

“Excuse you?” he says. 

The cat begins to purr, it's paws stretching in a leisurely manner. He feels almost jealous and yet...

The cat has the right damn idea.

 

If he's going to be stuck in here tonight with fucking Nicholas Fury (Jr!), he may just have to stay in his room. He can read some more of that novel of Natalia's. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I made a Pulp Fiction reference. And of course the cat is hiding in the metal armed assassin's bedroom. Wouldn't you?


	12. The Ugly Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Sam begin to make plans. Meanwhile, Bucky deals with Old Saint Nicholas Fury Jr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maaaaan fuck dat homework. Imma take a break :P
> 
> Here's you folks a chapter

“I don't know what to do with myself,” he admits, rubbing a hand through his hair. He lets out a soft huff as he sat on the couch. Sam is leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing a glass of orange juice.

“I spent all of my time taking care of Bucky. All of my energy on him. And now...” he throws his hands up.

They're in Stark Tower, in the suite Tony reserves for Steve. It's fortunately modestly decorated, thanks to Pepper Potts. Initially it was too modern for Steve's taste and full of Captain America regalia. Pepper, fortunately, understood that Steve didn't feel quite 'at home' there and now it was decorated in a fashion more similar to what a man from the 1940s would be used to.

“I think we need to find out more about what's going on with Hydra,” Sam said. “Not just for Barnes or for you, but for all of us.”

Steve nods. “That might be the best course of action.” He looks up at his friend. “You're right.”

“I think so,” Sam moves over to sit in the armchair next to the sofa. “But you do need to figure out what to do with yourself outside of Hydra.”

“Outside of Hydra,” Steve huffed. “Makes it sounds like I'm part of the organization. Sometimes I feel like I'm a distant relative of theirs, I've spent most of my life involved in fighting them in one way or another. You asked me once what I'd do if I didn't have the Avengers. Honestly, I don't know. I thought maybe... Maybe I could spend my days taking care of... of him. But now...” he shakes his head. “I can't even stand the thought of him, Sam. I just don't understand.”

Sam sighs.

“I wish I knew what to tell you. I don't understand it either. What was he like during the war?”

“He was... quiet. He didn't want to talk about Azzano and... I should have known there was something off about that.”

“Off?”

“It wasn't just that he was... that he could heal quickly. He could move faster too, almost keep up with me. We noticed these things over time – the Commandos and I. But... every time I tried to talk to him about it, just the two of us even, he'd shy away from it. Now I think that must have been when they recruited him.” His voice grows tight. “I don't get it, Sam. How could... after everything we'd been through?”

“I don't know,” Sam shakes his head. “I know war changes people. But... it doesn't make any sense to me, him siding with the people who tortured him – experimented on him.”

“Unless... unless he knew what they were doing. And he... he wanted the serum.”

“We don't know that,” Sam says, frowning. “I think we need to find out more details about this. Something doesn't add up.”

Steve shakes his head. “No. None of it adds up. I never would have... I still can't... And he showed up here, dressed like that. What in God's name was he doing with them?” Steve makes a face and feels sick to his stomach. He can remember Bucky's wide eyes as he entered the house, the way he stared at Steve in the kitchen, as if he realized already what was going on.

Of course he did. He had to have known they would turn on him. His own, precious Hydra.

Steve doesn't really know why Rumlow called him and revealed the truth. Well, probably just so he could watch through that camera and laugh at him. His gut twists – one betrayal after another.

He looks at Sam and sighs. Sam doesn't seem to know what to say.

“How about we visit Stark? See if he can dig anything up for us.”

“I don't think I'm in the right mood for Stark,” Steve admits.

Sam smirks slightly. “Well maybe we can just ask JARVIS.”

“I think he would have told us if he found anything.”

“Worth a shot. Did you see that footage Hill found?”

Steve makes a face. Ugh.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I don't think I need to.” He looks up at Sam, frowning. “Did you?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head. “I'm not really interested in it, but there could be something there.”

“Did Hill say anything?”

“No. They tried to see if they could track them by anything they left behind but there wasn't much. Furniture, tv, even a gaming console, but no accounts logged in. No computer, no phones... Nothing that would really give a hint where they went.”

“I can't... I can't help thinking they did me a favor,” Steve shakes his head. “I know that's not why they did it, but...”

“Something about all of this,” Sam says, looking at him evenly. “It feels like they set this all up.”

“Well of course. There was a camera in the living room.”

“I mean... filming him at their apartment? Making him visit? Making him dress like that?”

“How do I even know they made him?” Steve shrugs a shoulder.

“Doesn't seem to fit in with the guy we've been living with for months.”

Steve sighs. “I feel like we never really knew him, Sam.” He looks up at his friend. “Like I've been chasing a ghost.”

Sam sighs.

“He may not be the man you knew – may not even be the guy you fought on the helicarrier. But he's a person and... Hydra did things to him, Steve. Sounds like they did a lot of twisted shit we didn't even realize.”

Steve swallows. He recalls his earlier words to Bucky, shouted in anger -

_'You deserve everything. Everything Hydra did to you.'_

“You're suggesting they... raped him?” Steve looks at him. “But he chose to go to that apartment, Sam. He could have just told me the truth.”

Sam is silent. “Even if he chose to go there and do those things? He was blackmailed into doing that.”

“According to what he says. I... I don't even know what to think, Sam. He twisted my sympathy – used it for his own gain. He lived here for months and... pretended to be someone I could trust.”

“If he was telling the truth about not remembering it until recently... can we really hold that against him?”

Steve frowns down at the floor.

“I just don't know if I can believe _anything_ he said now.”

“The whole situation is really messed up,” Sam admits. “But I'm glad he's with Natasha. She's updating me on how he's doing.”

Steve nods. He's almost curious enough to ask, but he said earlier that he didn't want to know and maybe it's for the best if he doesn't right now.

“Damn it,” he mumbled. “I forgot he has another appointment coming up this week. I'll have to...” he closes his eyes and shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a hand.

“I can help you explain to the doctor.”

“She won't like this. She thinks Bucky needs stability. But how can I give him stability when he... when he's been meeting Hydra behind my back?”

Sam gives him a sympathetic look. Steve is blinking and trying not to let the tears come.

“I believe him,” Sam says. “I could see Rollins and Rumlow blackmailing somebody with something like that. Besides – he was clearly upset according to Natasha and if he'd really been with them in some kind of set up, I don't think he would be with her right now. He'd have tried to slip away.”

Steve frowns.

“Do you...” he can barely say it, looking away. He's suddenly ashamed of his behavior. He knows he reacted badly, but can anyone honestly say he overreacted?

“I think you have every right to be angry,” Sam says. “I'd be pretty pissed too. But what's done is done. I think this just shows we need to find out what Hydra is up to. If they're comfortable enough playing games like this, that can't be a good sign.”

“No it can't,” Steve says, sniffing. “You're right,” he looks at Sam evenly. “I... I don't know if I can watch that footage though.”

“We don't have to watch it,” Sam frowns. “I don't think it's a good idea. But... if you want to know how Hydra really treated him.”

“You said you didn't see it.”

“No. But Hill gave me a description of what happens in it.” Sam looks disgusted.

Steve shakes his head. “I don't know.”

“Either way, I think we need to try and figure out where Rumlow is. He was high up enough to work on the Winter Soldier project? That means he's valuable.”

“He might have useful intel,” Steve agrees. He can't deny he'd like to kick Rumlow in the face. “All right. I have an idea.”

Sam looks at him.

“The day we had the heat fixed? That must have been when they put the camera in our house. We need to figure out who was working on the house that day.”

“Hill called the company responsible but they said the guy working for them is already gone.”

“Do we have his name? Description?”

Sam nods. “It's a place to start.”

 

“He went by the name Jordan Perry,” Hill says as they walk around the construction site of the new Avenger's base. She holds out a file to him. “But his actual name is Michael Friedrichson. Used to work for SHIELD, actually,” she makes a face as she looks at the foundation of the main building and where workers are putting up a frame. “Bad record though. Mercenary. Also skilled with technology.”

Steve nods. Sam is out visiting his sister and mom today so it's just Steve meeting up with Hill.

They walk as they talk, taking a stroll around the perimeter of the plot.

“Near as I can tell, they had him set up ahead of time – months ago. They've been planning this.”

Steve nods again.

“I'm sorry about Barnes.”

He shakes his head as he holds the file under his arm. “It's definitely not your fault.” He looks toward the forest. It's almost nice here, with a breeze.

“From the footage we found at the apartment – Hydra just makes me sick,” she shakes her head.

“Did they,” he slows to a stop. “Did they hurt him?”

She's quiet for a moment then nods.

“I'm sure their intent was to make it look consensual but... they treated him like an object, Steve.” She looks up at him, her eyes unusually soft. “I don't know that I could have gone through with what he did. He clearly didn't want you to find out, which to me says more about how much he cared about your friendship than it does what he was trying to hide.”

“But he still hid it from me,” Steve feels his gut twist again. Every time he thinks about Bucky in that pink dress, Bucky coming home and smiling uncomfortably, pretending that he was at a club... What did they do to him?

He isn't sure he wants to know. And some small, hurt part of him bitterly whispers that it doesn't change what Bucky did. What he let into Steve and Sam's home.

Why hadn't he just told Steve the truth? Yes, Steve would have been angry – was furious. He cringes slightly, remembering how he shoved Bucky out onto the sidewalk.

He looks at Maria and she's nodding.

“True. But can you blame him?” She holds up a hand. “I won't say he was right to do so and I definitely can't excuse what he did in the past – any of it. But remembering that you betrayed your best friend and your own teammates back in the day? That sounds like a nightmare.”

He nods after a moment and then they're strolling again, looking into the forest.

Maria stops after a few moments and sighs, eyeing the crew as they lower pipes into the ground.

“I tried to vet every last person on this work crew. You think that was easy? Everyone has something in their past, Rogers. Some of us just have more shit than others.”

She looks at him wryly. “Doesn't matter what it is, either. But the shit always floats to the top.”

He raises an eyebrow at her and his lips twist at a corner.

“Thank you,” he says, holding up the file. “For the information.”

She nods. “I don't have the energy or the manpower to hunt one man down. But if you're feeling up to it, be my guest. I hope you find the answers you need.”

He looks after her, puzzled, as she starts to head back to the road. The answers he needs.

What is he doing, going after this man? Is he just pulling on another thread, like that time Natasha warned him at Fury's grave?

He catches up to her and she looks curiously at him.

“How are you doing, by the way?”

She smirks. “I'm... better. I'm working for a private company that I know won't turn out to be harboring a terrorist organization so that helps.”

Steve huffs and she lets out a laugh.

“I'm grateful to Potts, honestly. I don't think I would have liked an alphabet agency. SHIELD already had too much paperwork.”

He chuckles. “Tell me about it.”

“What about you, Rogers? How are you keeping up?”

He sighs and shrugs a shoulder. “Messy,” he lifts the folder in his hand and she snorts. “But... well, is it weird that I'm relieved?”

They stop by her car.

“Relieved how?”

“I guess... now this means that there can't really be anything else Bucky's hiding from me. I mean, other than what he did as the Soldier and I have a pretty clear picture of that.”

“Do you?” Hill tilts her head. “Think about this, Steve, and you don't have to answer me; how is it worse what Barnes did during the war than what he did as the Winter Soldier? Because there was some illusion of choice involved?”

Steve frowns. “Illusion?”

“It just seems weird to me that he would choose to betray the person who rescued him from Azzano, is all. I can't say he was already under Hydra's influence then. But I do know that Hydra's very good at getting people to do what they want – things they'd normally never do.”

She pats him on the shoulder.

“Just be careful what you start digging into.”

He wants to laugh.

_'You sure you want to pull on that thread?'_

He can remember a day almost a year before and Natasha Romanoff giving him a similar look. He wants to laugh, but somehow it isn't funny.

Hill climbs into her vehicle and then she's waving through the window.

“See you around,” she calls.

“See you,” he gives her a wave. Then he takes the folder to his own car. 

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha at least has the decency to visit his room before she goes. He's able to glare at her from the bed, hiding the novel he's reading behind the cat curled up to his stomach.

“I don't usually let the cat on the bed...”

“But you let Barton on the furniture?”

Her lips quirk up at the corners.

“I'm off.”

“Take care. Go forth and poison men with your Black Widow kiss.”

She rolls her eyes and snorts.

“You and Nick-”

“Do not belong in the same sentence,” he grouses.

She sighs, then smirks. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“As the sun sets or the moon rises?”

“Very funny.”

She gives him another look, then heads down the hall. He hears her speaking to Fury, then the back door slides open and shuts. He sighs. He could follow her but that would be silly and she would find out and she would be pissed.

It would be funny, at least. He can see her glaring at him in the dark, hissing at him to go home.

He briefly wonders if there's someone here she's going to 'visit' tonight. Is that why tehy're in North Carolina?

He can hear the tv on but that doesn't mean shit. Fury cannot seriously be watching tv like an old man.

He opens the novel and continues reading.

It's about a CIA agent who comes in from the cold ten years after the fall of the Iron Curtain. It's a very American novel and unless the readers notice how knowledgeable Ms Pulitzer seems to be about obscure Russian history, they would find it almost... No, not trite, he thinks. What's the word he's looking for?

It's like the living room or the nautical theme in this room – it's not quite kitschy. And it makes him smile because that is nothing like Natasha. She's totally devoid of camp but she clearly enjoyed wallowing it in at some point. He wonders if he can do what she does – climb into an identity's skin, wear it, make it hers, then discard it for another.

But he knows what it's like to have a home or at least, he did once.

He was a person once and it's not that she isn't but she spent mot of her life as an asset. She just left that life before he did.

She's also adjusted better than he has and not for the first time, he's proud of her again.

He needs to do something for her. Did she wash the dishes from lunch already? He should clean up. Especially his room – not leave smellly dog clothes lying around. He almost gasps and the cat looks up at him.

He left the clothe on the floor at Steve's when he changed out of them – the fucking panties.

He closes his eyes and covers his face with a hand. His face burns hot and he tries to breathe and settle his blood pressure. Cleaning up. Right.

He puts the novel down and decides enough is enough. He is not hiding from nick Fury all night.

When he sits up and scoots toward the opposite end of the bed from the doorway, not wanting to disturb the cat – honestly, he's never been this courteous of felines so the little bastard better appreciate it – the cat looks at him with interest.

“What?” he asks it as he moves around the bed to the door.

He peeks out the window first.

Natasha's 'stang is still there. So is Fury's boring four door 'old man' car. He doesn't know what he expected Nicholas Fury to drive – an armored SUV?

Haha. That's almost funny.

His fingers carefully slip from the blinds and he moves to the door. The cat is stretching and yawning. What did she call the little monster? He can't remember.

He's picturing the armored SUV as it flies past him and he recalls stepping out of its path. Watching it slam top first into the pavement. Feeling the smallest measure of satisfaction as he walks up to it. His heart beat picking up as he stepped closer to the vehicle. His breath made sahllow by exertion and the fucking mask.

He reaches the end of the hall. His felsh hand is gripping the corner of where the wall meets the living room tightly.

He returns to himself in the present and he's staring at Fury who is actually fucking falling asleep while watching tv on the couch like an old fucking man.

He lets out a soft huff and shakes his head. Then he sighs and heads into the kitchen. HE can find something to clean around here.

No. The dishes are done. Well they haven't been dried and stored away, so he'll do that next.

 

He hears someone chuckling from the living room after a few minutes. He rolls his eyes and continues drying the plate he's holding, then tucking it away in the cupboard.

“I said,” an ornery voice speaks up. “Ha. ha. ha. ha. ha!”

He narrows his eyes then steps around the wall to glare at Fury, the dishrag still in his hand.

“I'm sorry? Did you need help getting up from the couch, grandpa?”

“I told you not to call me that,” Fury says. “And you're the one lookin' all domestic. She's got you well trained.”

“Pfft,” Bucky shakes his head, cracking a half grin at the man. “Eighty years old and still lookin for shit.”

“Fifty two, fucker. And you're the one who's ninety seven.”

“Big nine seven,” Bucky shrugs. “Life's still a piece of shit. I'd quit early if I were you, Nick.”

Fury scoffs and looks at the tv, shaking his head.

“You just mad because you couldn't kill me.”

Bucky does feel a little bit of irritation at that.

“It's not my fault you ran to Rogers,” he says, then flinches slightly. Shit.

“Base,” Fury snorts. “Not my fault he scared you away. You were supposed to be some kind of super assassin.”

“He did _not_ scare me away,” Bucky's relieved Fury doesn't pursue it. “I shot you fair and square.”

“Yeah well,” Fury smirks. “Life isn't fair.”

“Nope. Sure isn't. Especially when your target can fake his own death. That was lame by the way.”

“You say 'lame' I hear 'stroke of genius.'”

“Uh huh. Keep tellin' yourself that.”

They're quiet for a while. Bucky is about to get up to finish the dishes when Fury turns to look at him.

“So what happened with you? Why'd you end up all the way out here?”

He freezes, leaning forward. He clasps his hands between his knees.

“Romanoff didn't tell you?”

“She gave me a rough outline.” Fury's leaning against the opposite arm of the sofa. His gaze is serious but his form is relaxed. Not feigned, Bucky notes, and feels slightly impressed. Few people could just relax around him. Even Sam had a hard time relaxing around him at first. Steve, for different reasons. He'd been so eager to please Bucky, like he was afraid he'd just up and disappear.

He frowns at the floor, remembering.

“I fucked up,” he says. “Long story short.” He gets up and goes to the kitchen, hoping to end the conversation as he begins to dry the dishes.

No such luck. Fury lowers the volume on the tv.

“She told me you betrayed the commandos. Turned Hydra during the war. That true?”

Bucky sighs and rolls his eyes, glad to be shielded from view by the partition wall.

“Yeah,” he nods, picking up a plate and drying it. “It's true.”

He's putting it in the cupboard as Fury speaks again.

“May I ask why?”

“You can ask whatever you want. Problem is...” he sighs and shakes his head, putting his hands on the counter and thinking. “I don't fucking know, honestly.”

Fury is silent for a few moments. Bucky can only imagine the faces he must be making.

“Were you brainwashed then?”

Bucky snorts. “No. I wish I could say I was. That would make everything nice and easy wouldn't it?”

He thinks bitterly of Steve and how it was always the blonde's excuse for everything he'd done as the Winter Soldier.

'Bucky, you couldn't help it. You were brainwashed and tortured.'

Yeah, right. Tell it to the people he, Bucky, murdered in cold blood.

“Would make more sense,” Fury mumbled. “You don't remember any reasons?”

“I had reasons, sure. Ones that didn't make sense.”

“Like?”

Bucky rolls his eyes again and sighs.

“Shit, you don't have to tell me-”

“I was jealous,” he snaps. “I was jealous and bitter.”

“Jealous of what?” Fury is definitely making a face now. “Rogers?”

“Rogers... and other people,” he nods. “I... We were all eachother had.” It feels so fucking weak, saying it out loud but shit, he might as well get used to it. Maybe the world does deserve to know why James Bucky Barnes turned out to be such a piece of shit. “Then one day he shows up... this serum. I get out of Azzano and... he rescued me.” He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. He lets out a weak laugh. “Can you believe that shit? He rescued me and I betrayed the guy.”

Fury is silent again. “You were jealous of him.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. He had the whole world at his feet suddenly. Carter, everybody. One day nobody loved him, nobody even knew he existed and then the next thing you know... “ He shakes his head, closing his eyes. He can't finish.

It's so pathetic, he wants to throw up. He swallows. Then he breathes in deeply and exhales.

“You were jealous because he didn't need you anymore.”

Fury sounds like he can't really believe it. Bucky shakes his head.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Well is it that or is it something else?”

“It was... a combination of things. I was fucking... I was an idiot.” He wants to say he wasn't in his right mind at the time but that's hiding behind something. That's being a coward and Bucky's tired of cowering. It's time to be honest for once and face the music.

His face is hot and he's glad Fury can't see him. It's weird, almost like confessing to a priest, and he wants to laugh at that. Fury's the farthest damn thing from a priest Bucky can think of.

“I thought... No. He didn't need me anymore. All those years and...” he sighs and it's shuddery. “I turned my back on him. I don't know what the hell I was thinking.”

“And the other Commandos?”

Fury doesn't sound angry which is just weird. He sounds curious. Bucky frowns.

“I didn't even think about them,” he admits and it makes him feel sick. “Or if I did, I didn't care. All I saw was Steve.”

He's leaning on the counter by the time he's done. Somehow it's exhausting, saying it out loud. The last time he tried to explain to anyone, it was Steve and...

He closes his eyes, remembering the look of the blonde as he'd raged. God, he was furious. Bucky couldn't remember seeing him so angry, so hurt. Not even when they were younger and Steve getting pissed off was almost a regular thing.

Steve was right. He _had_ deserved everything Hydra'd done to him.

He pushes himself up to standing again and starts to dry the dishes once more.

“So you got in contact with Hydra? Or they contact you?”

What does it matter? Bucky thinks. But then he frowns as he opens his mouth to answer.

He doesn't know.

His frown deepens. That doesn't make any sense. No. It must have been him. There was that one mission where... they were in a base.

“We were in a bunker. Hydra bunker. I... found a radio.” I think. “And... I took it.”

“You just took a radio off a body?”

“Yeah.”

“Who did you contact?” Fury sounds perplexed. Bucky puts the mug he's drying down and walks into the living room.

“Why do you care?”

“I'm trying to understand what the hell is going on between you and Rogers. Every damn day it's another soap opera with you two.”

Bucky snorts. Fury just glares at him. After a while he starts to feel uncomfortable and shrugs, then heads back into the kitchen.

“So who did you contact?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. Oh for fuck's sake!

“I don't...”

“You don't remember?”

“No,” Bucky huffs. “It... It had to have been someone in command. Some... some officer. Who fucking-”

 

_The soldier doesn't believe him. Whenever Bucky turns the radio on and tries to talk to him, he just answers in bad English and mocks him._

_Bucky has to slip away from the camp to do it, usually at night. He talks quietly into the radio, looks around nervously into the dark. If anyone calls out to him, he just answers that he's taking a piss._

_He has to be incredibly careful. Steve can hear a fish fart in a waterfall a hundred yards away. Bucky isn't even completely sure that Rogers doesn't know about this..._

_Then one day someone besides the soldier answers. Bucky almost shuts the radio off in fear when he hears accented, concise English._

“ _Who is this and what do you want?” they demand._

“ _My... I'm an American,” he makes a decision. “And I have an offer for you.”_

 

He's shaking, his hands on the counter as Fury calls out to him.

“Barnes?” he's standing up. Bucky looks up as the man steps into view. “What is it?”

Bucky shakes his head. He's trembling and he keeps his hands on the counter, breathing and trying to stabilize himself.

“Nothing,” he says. “Just... remembering shit.”

He blinks and when he feels better, he takes the mug and dries it, putting it away. He doesn't look at Fury as he continues to dry dishes and put them into the cupboard.

The other man moves into the kitchen and Bucky realizes the teapot is whistling. Has been from the sound of it. He turns to watch Fury take it off the hot eye and put it aside, then turn the oven off.

He gestures to Bucky and the cabinets and Bucky takes out two mugs. Fury searches and finds the tea, then puts a bag in each mug. He pours hot water into each mug, then flips the light in the kitchen on.

“Sit down,” he gestures to the table. Bucky feels a sinking sensation inside, but he takes his mug and moves to the table. Fury sits adjacent to him, on his right, facing the glass door. Bucky notices Fury is half in shadow this way and huffs. He accepts the sugar bowl from Fury and puts a few cubes into the tea, stirring it.

“It was an officer,” he says at last. “But I can't remember his name. He didn't... didn't trust me. I wouldn't give him my name at first.”

“Why did you talk to him?”

Bucky shrugs a shoulder. “I... I guess... I don't know.” He looks up at Fury. “Would you believe me? If If I said I honestly have no fucking clue why I did?”

Fury shakes his head.

“I'm sure there was some reason.”

'Nothing felt right.' But that's stupid. He doesn't even know how to explain it.

“I... I don't know why I did,” Bucky says. “I think...” he can't even look at Fury as he says it. “I was lost.”

“Lost?”

“Not... physically. I'd sneak out of camp some nights to talk on the radio. At first it was just this soldier. He had no idea who I was. Didn't trust me. I didn't trust him either. I just kept repeating 'I'm trying to get in contact with Hydra.'”

He feels ashamed uttering the words now and his face grows hot. He swallows, lowering his head.

“Why did you want to talk-”

“I don't know!” he looks up, his expression desperate. He stares at Fury and the other man stares back at him, his one eye full of perplexion. “I wish I did.”

He looks at the table, staring off. He tries to remember, but it's... it's all a blur and it hurts. Trying to remember anything from his past in detail, beyond the few memories that have resurfaced... It starts to give him a headache after a while.

His shoulders sag slowly as he breathes.

“What was the deal with those two agents?”

Fuck.

He closes his eyes.

“Rollins and Rumlow... They...” he shook his head. “Rollins calls me one day. Says he's gonna tell everyone... tell Steve what I did. I'd... I'd just remembered it a few weeks before.”

Fury is watching him, expression blank. Bucky sighs.

“I was going to tell him,” he looks out the glass door. “I swear to God, I was. But... how the fuck do you tell someone that? Guess what, Steve? I betrayed you?” he scoffs and shakes his head. “I didn't even know how to begin. I knew it... I knew he'd be angry. But I knew he'd be hurt too. It would fucking...” he swallows. “It would destroy him. It did.”

“Oh for crying out loud!” Fury snaps and almost startles him. “It _did not_ destroy him. He's alive and well.”

“He's not well,” Bucky snaps. “He's... he was – you didn't see him.”

“Yes, it hurt him. Because he _trusted_ you. But guess what? _I've_ been betrayed. I'm _alive_ today, Barnes. I'm -”

“Pierce wasn't to you what-”

“What the hell do you know about Pierce?” Fury scoffs. “No, he wasn't my _boyfriend_ , but guess what? He wasn't the only motherfucker ever to turn on me. You don't know a damn thing about my life.”

Bucky falls quiet and nods.

“Fine,” he says after a moment. “You're right. I don't know what I'm talkin' about.”

“You don't!” Fury takes a sip of his tea and makes a face. “You think you're the only person ever to fuck up on a scale like that, well you're wrong. Try and ask Romanoff about her and Barton sometime. Jesus, I thought they were gonna kill eachother half the time. You don't even know the half of it.”

“Seventy years,” Bucky said. “Seventy years he was frozen and I had my brains scrambled. And then he wakes up and he's alone in this century and,” he swallows. “He finds me again. And he tells himself all this shit, tells me all this shit about how it's _not my fault_ and he lo- he loves me and I'm his best friend. I'm some kind of hero in his eyes,” he looks at Fury. “Seventy fucking years. We were best friends from the time we were kids and you...” Bucky shakes his head. “He finds out one day from these assholes that I... That I'm the _worst thing_ that ever fucking happened to him. And don't you _dare_ fucking tell me i'm not. It's not arrogance. It's the _truth_.”

Fury just looks back at him with a soft sigh. Bucky looks away, unable to speak anymore. He just feels exhausted.

“One month. I fucking lied to him every day to his face. I couldn't tell him,” he sniffs. “Then Rollins calls me. Says he's going to put that recording everywhere.”

“Recording?”

“They recorded me,” he laughs weakly. “Of course. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, good ol _Bucky Barnes_ telling Hydra where they can find the Commandos. That we'll be intercepting Zola's train. That we _know_ he's there. I even told them around what time to expect us. That's why that armored asshole was on that train.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I was gonna tell him then,” he looks at Fury and shakes his head again. “I was gonna tell Steve. Let the cards fall where they may but hey, at least I told him, right?” His lips curl in an ugly smile. “Except it was _too fucking late_ and he could have died. We all could have died.

Then I get knocked out of the train,” he huffs. “And I fall and I break on the rocks. And _they_ find me. And then the fun starts. And you know what? I _deserved every fucking second of it._ ”

He's gripping the mug's handle with his flesh hand hard and it's hot, but the burn is good. Fury eyes his hand then looks at him.

“The experiments, the beating, the hunger, the isolation, the fucking-” Fury flinches and something about that makes Bucky laugh. “All of it. I deserved all of it. And for _months_ he told me I didn't. That I was just a poor little soldier who ended up on the wrong side of things. Poor little Bucky Barnes didn't know good from bad, got taken advantage of by bad folks.” He smirks and shakes his head. “Then Rollins calls and he has fun with me. Plays the same old games Hydra always liked to play. He and Rumlow, they fuck around and have fun. And when they're finished, guess who hears about it? Guess who knows when I walk in that door?”

Fury just watches him, silent.

“Steve. He's already fuckin' waiting and they're on the phone. They knew the moment _I walked in the fucking door-”_

“Barnes,” he says. Bucky frowns. Fury gestures downward at his mug.

The handle cracked at some point and it's now shards of pottery in his hand. The mug itself is in one piece but there's a crack down the side and tea is leaking out of it. His hand is red. The metal hand is a fist beside the mug.

He stares at it for a moment, at the cracked remnants in his hand. Then he brushes them off with his thumb, shakes his hand slightly. The pieces fall to the table and onto his lap, onto the floor.

He slowly gets up and grabs a broom, finds a dustbin. He starts to sweep them up silently.

Fury is looking at the pieces of the broken mug and he sighs, sipping his tea.

Bucky cleans up the pieces as quickly and efficiently as he can. His mind has been shut off. Then he tosses the pieces and the broken mug into the garbage after dumping the tea into the sink. He puts the broom and dustbin away, then hurries down the hall to his room. He shuts the door behind him, not hard enough to slam it, but enough to make it clear that he's done talking.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all give me comments now, y'hear?


	13. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve begins to try to unravel the mystery behind his friend's betrayal. Bucky finds new purpose at Natasha's safehouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so, so bad that it has taken me a YEAR to update this fic. I am beyond sorry. I really do love this fic and I want to finish all my fics!   
> I was finishing up school (university) and trying to do grown up things. But that is simply no excuse!   
> I promise there will be more regular updates from now on! I want to update each of my fics at least once a month. I actually do have quite a bit of this fic written so there's no reason I shouldn't update again soon.   
> Thank you, for those of you still following along! I agree these two need some conflict resolution to their angst and I hope to deliver that ASAP.

 

After leaving Maria, Steve goes back to the tower, fixes himself some coffee, and then starts to pour over the contents of the folder. There are the employment files from the energy company for 'Jordan Perry,' including the employment picture. Friedrichson is lean and tall with hazel eyes, sandy hair that reaches his ears, and a beard. He looks friendly in his ID picture. Steve finds another page with a driver's license for 'Jordan Perry' and an address. Hill included reports of the investigation of both Rollins's apartment and the address listed on Perry's ID. There's another report from the energy company that there were no anomalies or red flags during Perry's hiring process.

'Well of course there wouldn't be red flags,' Steve thinks. 'Hydra would make sure of that.'

He's still awed at the extent to which Rollins and Rumlow went to make this possible – then again, it's not really that big of a surprise, is it? Hydra's always been willing to go farther than anyone would believe.

He thinks about what Hill said earlier. What Sam's mentioned before...

Was it possible that Bucky was influenced to betray his country and his friends even while he was at Azzano? Zola had clearly had a hand in the serum there and there were even notes of his, mentions of the scientist in the Winter Soldier file. Most of the mentions were redacted but they were clearly references to Zola. After all, he'd been the main scientist on the Winter Soldier project. Steve goes to his room to dig the file out from the underside of the drawer in his night table.

As he holds it, he recalls the first time he let Bucky look at it. It was a few months into his time living at the house with Steve and Sam. Bucky had been curious as to how Steve knew certain things about him so Steve showed him the file Natasha gave him.

He almost smiles as he remembers Bucky grumbling about Natasha being a traitor.

Then his amusement fades and the familiar ache in his chest returns.

It's bizzare... It's almost like grief and Steve can't stand that thought, so he goes back to the kitchen and opens the file.

There are mentions of 'conditioning' early on – torture, of course. Bucky's gradual decline mentally and emotionally as Hydra tore away piece after piece of the man Steve had once called his best friend, until he was finally a mindless automaton without will or dignity. Most of the 'conditioning' mentioned beatings, frozen water, electrical current, interrogation. Then of course, there was the wipes.

There was no mention of anything sexual in nature. There was a mention of 'the team' having been 'too rough' with the soldier during 'punishment' and 'putting the timetable back by a week' – something that still filled Steve with a silent, helpless rage – but... nothing about rape.

There was one picture Steve had never quite been able to handle looking closely at – Bucky standing naked and staring at the camera with a lost expression, part of his head clearly shaved and stitches on the side of his head. According to Natasha, Hydra's scientists had probably experiment with partial lobotomies as a way to control the soldier – to control Bucky. But thanks to the serum his brain had, given enough time, always regrown the lost portions and connections.They even had notes as to how long it took for Bucky to recover from various things – beatings, full body burns, frozen extremities, the effects of starvation...

He sets the paper he's reading down and closes his eyes, sighing and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. This has always been painful reading. He wonders if it's ever really gotten easier or if it will...

'And what is it like, being Bucky and having lived through this?'

How much does his friend really remember?

 

He thinks of the way he treated Bucky and he feels a sharp twinge in his heart. He shook Bucky, threw him on the floor, threatened him, told him he...

Told him he _deserved everything Hydra did to him._

He covers his lips with a hand as he looks at the form of his naked friend.

There are bruises on Bucky's naked body, including on his chest, along with a long, thick still healing scar in the center of his chest that always suggests 'dissection' to Steve.

Or rather, vivisection.

He forces himself to look down at Bucky's narrow waist, his almost protruding hip bones. There are bruises around there too, and on his thighs. His penis, hanging flaccid between his legs, looks untouched. But that doesn't mean anything.

What did Bucky's _back_ look like in this picture?

Steve usually asks himself question like 'What was he thinking when this picture was taken?' Was he able to think anything at all? To feel shame at his own exposure?

He wipes at his face and tucks the picture and papers back into the file with a shaking hand.

He catches sight of something on a piece of paper as he's tucking it back into the file and freezes. He sorts out the sheet he just pushed in, taking it from the pile and stares at the sentence that caught his eye. Natasha translated most of it from Russian and German to English for him, her notes in the margins.

“The soldier responds well to stimulus, both painful and pleasurable. Its conditioning since its early days has allowed it to retain the primordial behavior that causes animals to avoid punishment and seek rewards. With reinforcement, the soldier can be taught to see that Hydra provides for its needs – though it is suggested that rewards are few and far between so as to minimize the risk of complacency. If properly conditioned dependence is maintained, the soldier will always return to its handlers. It must be impressed upon the subject that without its handlers, it has no purpose and no chance of survival.”

And what sort of rewards would Bucky have been given? Steve knows he had to have read this at some point, but now that he looks at it again, he's starting to see something else.

Did Bucky... did he return to them out of some sense of obligation? Did he feel as if Steve wasn't giving him everything he needed?

The thought makes him feel ill. What if Bucky was _punishing himself?_

Early on in his recovery, Bucky would break things when he was distressed, beat his hands or his head against a wall. He even took to cutting his flesh arm with a knife – something that had scared the daylights out of Steve.

Was this something similar?

He shakes his head and puts the files away. That's enough reading and thinking about that for one day. He almost reaches for his phone, thinking of Natasha. He should at least ask how she's doing, right?

It's only fair, for her taking Bucky... 'off his hands' just sounds too cold, too cruel.

But it's true, isn't it? Bucky would have been safer here, at Stark Tower, and he could have stayed in a different suite.

Steve sighs. He picks up his phone and types out a text.

“Hey Natasha. How are you?”

It seems far too casual for how things went the last time they saw eachother. He remembers Bucky in a hoodie, following Natasha with his eyes on the floor. Bucky seemed to be in a daze when Steve ordered him to go to his room before Steve called Natasha. He'd been cringing like a kicked dog, looking at Steve desperately.

He wishes he could forget the pain in Bucky's eyes.

'Pain? He doesn't deserve to be hurt about this. He lied to me. He went back to Rollins and Rumlow and he...'

He kissed Steve too. He _kissed_ Steve after coming back from 'the club.' Steve felt his stomach twist. Had Bucky been talking about Rollins when he mentioned 'the guy he kissed at the club'? Or was it Rumlow?

Did he _enjoy_ it? What they did to him?

He knows that... that if Bucky did enjoy it, it doesn't mean that what they did was... that Bucky _wanted_ it. But what if he did, in some way, want it?

The thought almost makes Steve want to throw up. How could Bucky even tolerate their touch?

 

He looks at the files on Friedrichson again. There's no mention of him being involuntary or being coerced into any of his involvement with Hydra. It seems like he's just the type to find the next person offering him money and a little bit of power.

Steve's phone screen is cracked from when he threw it almost last week but it lights up all the same when a text from Natasha arrives.

“I'm doing well. Relaxing. A certain grumpy old mentor blew in for a visit.” It's followed closely by a second text message: “What's up?”

Steve frowns. Grumpy old mentor... Fury? Is Fury in the same house as the Winter Soldier?

It doesn't sound like a good idea. He notices she didn't mention Bucky at all. He rolls his eyes at his own hesitance and types another message.

“Is our friend still with you?” He can't bring himself to ask if the man is okay and it feels petty and like the answer to his question is incredibly obvious, but still... He also doesn't want to type Bucky's name in case either of their phones is being watched.

“Where else would he be?” He can almost picture her raising an eyebrow. “He and old man are being civil to eachother at least.”

Well that's a hell of a mental picture. Bucky and _Fury_ in the same room – are they in opposite corners glaring at eachother? Is that what 'civil' means to Natasha?

It's weird. He swore to himself he was done caring about Bucky Barnes – and now in the light of day, having had time to think about it, that sounds harsh too – but just hearing about this is stressful.

“What does old man want?” he types.

“He's giving our friend an assessment.”

An assessment. An assessment for-

Oh no. No, no, no, Steve is absolutely not having this.

“What exactly does he think our friend is going to be doing?”

The reply takes a while.

“Nothing major.”

'Yet.' There is definitely a 'yet' implied there. Somehow Steve is not comfortable with...

He finds himself letting out a soft laugh. He's not comfortable with it. What does it matter? Why does he care? Bucky...

He looks at the file on the table before him.

“Shit.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Barnes, just tell me what the hell you want.”

Bucky stares at the older man across the table. The question came with the clatter of Fury's fork on the table. He turns his stare from Fury to Natasha. Natasha also turns her gaze to meet Bucky's and raises her eyebrows. It looks like she just wants to know what Bucky's answer is.

It's the next day, at dinner. Natasha finally managed to drag Bucky out of his room. Apparently Fury would only admit that 'they'd talked' and she thought that didn't bode well.

“What do you mean 'what I want?'”

“Romanoff clearly brought you here for a reason and I know it's not just to babysit,” Fury gives her an irritated glance and Bucky feels a twinge of hope. Maybe the old man is right...

He looks at Natasha, eyebrows rising. She holds up her hands shrugging.

“The question still stands,” she says. “What do you want?”

“I?” Bucky scoffs. He glances between them, then drops his own fork. “I don't...” He tries to think for a few moments.

What does he want?

He wants... he wants to go back in time to a month ago. He wants to tell Rollins to go fuck himself. Wants to show up at his apartment, murder him, and take the files. Take the risk.

Wants to tell Steve the truth.

But it's all too late for that.

He sighs.

“I'm... a good weapon. I wasn't a good man,” he nods once, thinking this makes sense. It seems like the right place to start. “I'm not a good person-” Bucky continues.

“I don't give a shit about all that,” Fury says, waving a hand. “What do you _want?_ ”

Bucky stares at him.

“I.. want to be useful.”

“Useful.”

Bucky nods.

“Useful _how?_ ”

“I want to destroy Hydra. I want to hunt down every last one of them and end them. End all of it, once and for all.”

Fury eyes him silently, rubbing his own chin. Bucky swallows and waits to hear what he has to say, staring intently at the man.

“Sounds good,” Fury nods slowly, looking to Natalia. Then he holds up a hand.

“But how do I know you won't turn on us?”

It feels cold in the pit of his stomach but Bucky knows Fury isn't asking to be cruel.

He thinks for a while, looking down at the table.

“I hate them,” he says quietly. “And myself, yeah-”

“And that's what I'm worried about,” Fury says, pointing a finger at him. Bucky frowns.

“Your self loathing makes you susceptible,” Natasha says. Bucky looks to her, still frowning, then looks down at the table. Susceptible.

To Hydra? To their control?

No. He won't let them take him again. For Steve's sake, if for nothing else.

'Even if,' some corner of him whispers. 'Steve doesn't care about you anymore?'

No. Even Steve wouldn't want him to end up back in Hydra's hands. That' why he called Natasha.

'Or just to get rid of you.'

He nods after a few moments with a sigh, looking up at her again.

She's right. He's dangerous because he could always resubmit to Hydra, even if he doesn't want to. Because he desires punishment.

Then he shakes his head.

“No,” he says decisively, looking at her, then Fury. “I won't. Not unless they... not unless they use a trigger. A code word.” He look at Natasha again. “I... I let them – do what they did. Rumlow and Rollins. I was afraid of losing Steve-”

“I'm not talking about that.”

“I know-”

“You're susceptible to the idea that you deserve-”

“I know. Natasha, listen. Please. I know. But I've... I've already lost Steve.”

“You don't know that.”

He smiles and it's sad.

“He might forgive me. But he'll never trust me again.”

“That's why I'm worried,” Fury says. Bucky frowns.

“You trust his judgement?”

“No. I feel like you have nothing to live for.”

“What do you live for?” Bucky's voice is soft but there is a clear note of defiance.

Fury huffs.

“Protecting this planet from the people who would fuck it over.”

Bucky nods.

“That's what I want.”

“No. You want revenge.”

Bucky sighs and rolls his eyes. Natasha bites her lip as if to hide a smile.

“Yes,” he admits. “I want to kick their asses,” he looks at Fury. “But Hydra also needs to be destroyed.”

“Convenient,” Natasha's raised an eyebrow. Bucky gives her a look. Her odd little smile tugs at her lips.

'It's true,” Fury says and Bucky sighs. He throws his hands up.

“I just don't want to sit here and be useless!”

Fury exhales through his nose.

“What do you presume I do?”

Bucky looks at him evenly.

“Give me an objective. Parameters. A mission. I'll do it. I won't go outside of those parameters. I may want revenge, but I'm not an idiot. You want me to leave them in one piece? You want me to leave 'em for the authorities? Fine.”

Fury stares back evenly for a while. Then he finally sighs, closing his eyes.

“I want to give you a chance.”

'Good,' Bucky thinks, but he knows better than to celebrate yet. He lifts his chin.

“And..?”

Natasha's smirking.

“I don't give a damn about you and Rogers. I really don't. That's not the issue here. Rogers needs to get over this shit.”

Bucky stares at him. Then glances to Natasha.

“ _What?”_

“He does!” Fury scoffs. “This shit happened seventy years ago. I don't give a damn and I don't have time to play playground monitor.”

_Playground monitor._ Like it's no big deal what Bucky did. He stares at the other man.

“Yes, you fucked up. You didn't even remember fucking up and why hold something against somebody when they don't even remember shit to begin with? It's a waste of time. The issue is you being off the rails.”

Bucky opens his mouth then closes it. He breathes out through his nose heavily and looks down.

“Fine,” he nods. “I can admit I'm not Mr Stability. But I want the same thing you and Natasha want. I want to stop Hydra. I have skills unlike anyone else in the world. You said so yourself. You can use them or you can choose not to.”

“I won't be using your skills. You will. But you have a need for order and you can't admit it.”

Bucky frowns. “I don't exactly have intel of my own.”

“Romanoff digs up her own shit half the time. I just give her a tip. You've been inactive and for good reason. You still aren't in one piece here,” Fury taps his own temple. “So I spoke to Romanoff.”

Bucky looks to her.

“I'm taking you with me on a mission,” she announces.

He sags and closes his eyes, exhaling.

“Thank you,” he says flatly. Finally.

“It's nothing big,” she says. “It's a chance for you to get your feet wet again. See where you stand.”

'I know where I stand,' he thinks but he's pretty sure she's talking about his abilities. He is... rusty.

He nods. “Good. When do we leave?”

She smirks.

“Tonight, actually.”

He sits up. “Where are we going?”

“There's a Hydra safehouse about a couple miles away from here. I've been keeping an eye on them.”

“That where you go at night?”

She raises an eyebrow. “No,” she looks amused. “I have a contact I've been in touch with.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “That where you get intel from?”

“Maybe.”

“Who is it?” he can't resist a grin. She snorts.

“None of your business.”

“All right, all right,” he holds up his hands. “So what's our mission?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Expect an update soon. Comments give me more motivation haha


	14. A Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets a chance to show Natasha and Fury what he's made of. Afterward, he must deal with the memories and feelings triggered by their mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The value of backing up your work cannot be understated. My computer, rest it's soul, died a few months ago. The hard drive just went and with it so much of my fanfiction. I did manage to salvage some of it by uploading it to Google docs cause I had the foresight to realize 'this computer is not doing so well, maybe I should back things up.' Yeah. I had like five years worth of stuff on that computer. It's heartbreaking.
> 
> But that means I got to rewrite this chapter and write it better! Yay! It has also really challenged the direction I was taking with this fic. It was originally going to be much longer but now I've decided to change some things so there will be much less angst!   
> And yes, I will still be updating my other fanfics as well. I want to finish all of my fanfiction :)

Natasha proves to be pretty efficient. Bucky knew that she would be.

They will be striking under cover of night. Vacation season is ending but there are still enough people living in the beach community that questions would be raised if there was any suspicious amount of noise.

They have to be _quiet_ which means no guns. Bucky finds he's oddly okay with that. Natasha does have a pistol with a silencer in case things get ugly but she frowns as she considers it.

“We should avoid even the opportunity for it to get ugly,” she says just as Fury looks like he's about to speak and he nods.

Fury leaves that evening. Where he's going, Bucky doesn't bother asking, but the man does shake his hand before he leaves which makes his pulse race a bit faster for a moment. The last time they saw each other... Well. Fury survived, the sly dog. Bucky's glad for that at least.

That night, they leave the house. First, Natasha leaves, taking her car somewhere. She's going to be 'at the beach enjoying the stars.' Bucky is going to be 'at home.' Hopefully none of the neighbors noticed his presence to begin with. He turns the tv on loud enough to get anyone's attention, leaves some lights on, and lets the cat out.

“Bye Buddy,” he says quietly to it as it gives him a curious look before slinking out into the night. He wonders if he's going to see it again. Natasha seemed intent on leaving North Carolina behind tonight. The farther they are after the mission is over with, the better.

Then Bucky waits a few minutes. He turns a light off, turns some others in the front bedroom on. Turns the tv down. Someone is 'home' which will hopefully take more suspicion off Natasha or 'Ashley Pulitzer.' It might be excess since as far as anyone can tell her one 'guest' left earlier. But if there's anything he learned as an assassin, it was always good to make the appearance of normalcy.

 

During those few minutes he reflects.

He doesn't remember a lot of missions in detail, from start to finish. Sometimes he remembers targets but not so much why they had to go according to HYDRA. He remembers more of the Red Room missions than the ones under Pierce.

He thinks of Pierce as he once was – young, handsome, strawberry blonde who gave out pleasure and favors to his favorite murder pet – before he became older, sharper, more methodical and consequently more cold.

He doesn't know why he thinks of Pierce. Everything seems to go back to the old man these days. To the question of why he, Bucky, put up with so much shit. Why didn't the asset just kill him?

He knows the reasons why. Knows that he was conditioned to obey a handler. That handlers were masters, especially a head of HYDRA. He didn't know many of the heads, not to any degree of intimacy and certainly not the degree he knew Alexander Pierce.

He wonders if Pierce's widow knew what kind of special garbage fire the human being she married was. He wonders if Pierce's daughter ever knew. It's possible they were HYDRA by association – aware but never active. He met Pierce's wife once, by accident. He was at Pierce's old family home during a barbecue, in summer. He recalls how hot the day was.

She came into the house while he was standing there with Rollins and a younger Rumlow. Rumlow, before he was the cruel bastard he became. Rumlow before he took special _pleasure_ in cruelty.

That's another thing to think about.

Pierce's wife came into the house and saw him. Bucky was dressed in civilian clothes – the asset – wearing a long sleeved shirt and a golf glove on his hand. Pierce introduced them as 'some buddies.' She made eye contact with the asset and the others each, smiled tiredly and said 'Hi, boys.' She invited them to partake in the barbecue. They left soon after that. The asset had reported the results of his mission and received a new objective. He recalls feeling tired, feeling disappointed that he wasn't going back into cryo.

Pierce and his wife quietly separated some time after that. He doubts that HYDRA had anything to do with it. But it was kept out of the media and they continued to share property and money.

When he's outside, now wearing another long sleeve shirt and a baseball cap with shorts and sneakers, he takes a deep breath and adjusts his cap. The sea air is soothing, the sussurus of the ocean making his heart beat slower. He still feels the old nerves. But he takes a deep breath and finds it invigorating. He harnesses that energy.

It's evening, before a mission. This was always the time he felt most alive under HYDRA. The only time he was allowed to feel anything other than pain, unless they wanted him to take pleasure at the pain they caused. He assumes that they would have been pleased that he felt satisfaction after a mission well done. Maybe they would have taken it away from him. Maybe they just didn't care at all.

He throws the plug into the garbage, making sure it's at the bottom of a dumpster that he finds near the beach. He tosses it in as he passes by, a careless free throw, possibly crumpled up paper. He hears it clang and land on soft trash. It gives him a weird sense of freedom.

Those days are behind him.

He hopes.

No. Those days are behind him. HYDRA has nothing on him now. He's truly free and it makes him swallow, makes part of him feel wobbly.

He closes his eyes for a moment as he walks, summoning the asset.

Cold. Calm. Calculated.

He crosses the street, glancing around, takes on a casual stance. Just out for a nighttime stroll. He pulls a pack of gum from his pocket, unwraps a piece, and slips it into his mouth. He crumples up the little paper, letting the wind take it, then tucks the pack back into his pocket.

They let the asset have gum. It helps the mind work, according to some techs.

He nods to another man walking a nice dog, hears the man whistle to it, call it a good boy. He feels nothing and relief settles in.

Comfort slowly soaks into his arms, his back, his legs. This is what he is. An asset. A weapon.

An accomplished one. This mission is small fries.

But he still needs to be alert.

 

* * *

 

He finds his way to the house.

Natasha is in place. He spots her approaching the door, hurrying up the steps.

Pizza girl. He grins at her when she glances toward him and nods. Then he nods, tugging his cap down a little more over his face, and heads to the back of the house. Just a guy, visiting some of his pals. Of course he uses the back door.

He finds no one in the backyard. He quietly, carefully, ascends the back stairs to the deck.

These houses are all on stilts. He kind of likes it. He almost wishes he could stay.

It's not time to think of that now.

He waits at the back door, a sliding glass door. There's a curtain over it. Back flat against the wall beside it, he waits. He slips out the club he tucked into one of his pockets.

Wait.

The doorbell rings. Natasha gave him a moment to get in place.

The door is immediately answered. Natasha is all cordial, smiles, 'sorry it took me so long – these streets all look the same, blah blah.'

The guy starts hitting on her which makes it even better. Bucky can't help a grin to himself.

Is she local? Yeah, she grew up here as a kid but she left and the whole place changed. Has it really changed? Yeah, totally different now. Used to be nothing out here...

The conversation shifts. Is the guy an idiot? He needs more change. His companion comes to the door. This is better. Now she has a better grip on who is in the house. Two birds, one stone.

The trouble is that the back door is in exactly the same room as the front. Bucky considers. Should he move downstairs to the little door on the ground floor? Do they dare tackle whoever is in here...

'Calm down,' he thinks. This was the door Natasha told him to take which means the “basement” is empty or blocked by furniture. Stick to the plan.

They've got this. If Natasha thinks a brainwashed assassin in recovery can handle this... Really she could handle this on her own, he's a burden.

“Oop, let me see if I have change,” she says.

That's the signal. They know who all is present.

He tests the back door. Unlocked. He slides it open, steps in, holds the club at his side. Flesh hand, because he doesn't want to commit homicide today. It's not necessary.

Guy on the couch – tubby fellow – looks up and freezes.

“Hey. Excuse me-”

The two guys at the front turn to look. Brothers, likely, both dark haired and with olive eyes. Rumlow look-alikes. For a moment he's floored. But they're much younger and much less experienced than Rumlow. He grins at them. He ignores the tubby guy on the couch, giving him only a cursory slap with the club to his nose. The man cries out and his hands fly up to cover his nose. He was watching something on tv.

Then Bucky throws the club, hard at the guy to Natasha's left. Natasha is already kneeing the first guy in the balls and shoving the pizza box in his face. Figure her to use a pizza box as a weapon. It's a good thing he already ate because it smells good.

'Shame to waste a pizza,' he thinks as the guy – to his delight – catches the club and then moves to run down the hall. Too bad he didn't throw it back. Bucky might have had more respect for him.

There's a shout in one of the rooms and he and Natasha make eye contact before she takes a hit to the face and then elbows the guy she kicked in the groin in the face, his head smacking against the wall. He's down, at least for now.

“Go after him!” she calls and Bucky springs into movement, sheepish. She's already putting zipties on the wrists of the guy she took down. 

The man on the couch is flinching and scared. A tech maybe?

He doesn't have time to think about it as he makes his way down the narrow hall of the vacation home. Blah wood paneling from the eighties with carpet on the floor. The door to the bedroom and a small bathroom to his right are closed.

His nemesis whips out of the bathroom wielding a gun. Bucky grabs his wrist holding the gun and aims it up at the ceiling. One shot, two shots. He punches him in the face, breaking his nose, then throws him against the bathroom wall, minus his gun. Bucky's holding it now. He dislodges the magazine and lets the clip fall to the floor before crumpling the gun in his metal hand and tossing it aside. He goes into the bathroom, not bothering to switch on the light, before he grabs the man around the neck and hauls him out into the living room.

He throws him on the floor, causing his face to hit the floor. The man cries out and Natasha tuts but Bucky is already pulling the man's arms behind his back.

“The infamous Zorani brothers,” Natasha says as she quickly helps him ziptie the other guys' arms. The guy she has tied up near the door tries to shoot his legs out and kick her off balance. She hops, laughing and kicks him in the head.

“Bad boy,” she notes, then turns to the tech.

Bucky isn't really sure he's a tech but he looks like it. White, pasty middle aged guy, plump around the middle with balding head and sad 80s glasses.

He's also holding a pistol.

“S-stay where you are.” He then catches a glimpse of Bucky's face and gasps. He looks to Natasha then back to Bucky. Bucky stays very still. He continues to watch the tech. Natasha is also still.

They both hear movement from the bedroom.

The man on the sofa slowly, slowly lowers his weapon, turning the pistol toward the ceiling and lifting his hands above his head in surrender.

“P-please don't-”

“You fucking coward,” the man on the floor spits. He's making a mess of the carpet. Bucky hit him pretty hard. He realized he shouldn't have thrown the man on the floor after breaking his nose, but he was in 'asset' mode. He feels relieved to know he can get back out of it so quickly.

Natasha slowly moves forward and takes the pistol from the man.

“Hands behind your back,” she instructs.

“Kneel on the floor,” Bucky agrees as he grabs the one already on the floor by his shoulders and hauls him up. “Sorry about the nose, asshole.”

Natasha hushes him and they move their quarry back to the sofa once they're all properly restrained.

“I'll check the bedroom,” she tells him. “Keep an eye on these three chums, will you?” She hands him the pistol. Her movement and the word almost put him back in time with a lean, fierce Peggy Carter.

He nods and looks at the three of them, holding the pistol by his side. There's no need to aim it. By now they've recognized him. They know what will happen if-

The man sitting on the far left of the couch is sneering at him. He's smart enough to keep his mouth shut but Bucky doesn't like the look in his eyes. He steps back to lean against the wall, glancing toward the bedroom behind him. He doesn't hear anything coming from it. The door is open. He'll leave it to Natasha to investigate.

Natasha's voice is coming from the bedroom, softer and more gentle. His stomach twists. A child? A woman? There's a sniffle and silence then a moment of resignation.

“That's right. Come on,” Natasha is helping someone up from the floor. He wants to tell her to be careful then remembers who he's with and keeps his eyes on his quarry.

The man on the far left of the couch who first answered the door is still sneering at him. His brother, looking younger, seems fearful.

“Don't you fucking touch him,” he tells Natasha when she walks a skinny boy into the living room. He looks like the other two and Bucky recognizes he must be the youngest sibling. His stomach twists.

If he hadn't taken the magazine out of the gun. If he hadn't crumpled it and thrown it aside. What if he'd shot through the bedroom door instead?

There's no time to think about that right now. The boy's wrists are ziptied and he's seated over by the tv.

Natasha takes no chances and zipties his ankles too, though her touch is a little more gentle. The kid is sniffling.

“You okay?” the sneering one is now more concerned with his brother.

The boy is looking up at Natasha, then glancing at Bucky fearfully. Bucky looks away, not wanting to be recognized. He doubts the kid would recognize him anyway, but if he could see the metal arm, he would know for sure.

He's glad his arm is covered.

Natasha is looking at him and mouthing something. 'You okay?' her back is to the others. He nods silently. HE jerks his head toward the other bedroom behind him.

“Go ahead.”

She does a quick search, finds weapons in the closet. Once she gathers up the intel, Bucky is freed from playing guard.

They leave the house via the back door, sirens going off nearby.

“Fury called the police for me,” she explains. “That way it's pegged on him. We were never here.”

“Unless Skippy and his friends talk,” Bucky feels relief when he sees her car nearby. They slow their pace. She's a pizza girl out of breath and he's a local guy. She has everything hidden in her pizza bag.

“Did you leave the pizza behind?” he asks as they slip into the car and she locks the doors.

She looks at him. Then she snorts. She opens the back to show him that the pizza box is still in it. They both start laughing.

“Romanoff,” he shakes his head. “You're amazing, you know that?”

Natasha blushes. “Thanks,” she snorts as she turns the key in the ignition. Police cars fly by and Bucky keeps his face down until he remembers that the car has tinted windows. Natasha was smart enough to park in an empty house's driveway.

She pulls out into the road and Bucky feels himself shivering as the jitters and adrenaline from the mission begin to seep away.

 

* * *

 

 

That night they take shelter in a hotel in Chesapeake Bay, Virginia.

Bucky's been trying to take deep breaths but as soon as they enter the hotel and he catches the familiar, musty smell of a cheap hotel room, he feels his body locking up.

Shit. No, not this.

He had an erection in the car, from the adrenaline he thought. Natasha had asked him if he was okay when he was silent. Bucky had quickly responded with “I'm fine. Glad we're done with that.”

She asked him a few questions about the mission, how he felt.

“I'm just glad we agreed on no guns... That kid.”

“Yeah,” she'd nodded.

Now he helps carry their bags into the room. Natasha is already pulling out a laptop taken from the crime scene and searching it for intel before Bucky's even closed and locked the door behind them. He can't help peeking out the hotel window, wondering if anyone recognized them as they came in. Fortunately it's dark, probably about one in the morning.

Natasha had already booked the hotel under a false name and I.D. He's relieved for her foresight as he moves to sit down on the bed.

The stiffness in his body gives way to shaking and he gets up, excusing himself to the bathroom.

“Everything all right?” she calls after a few moments.

“Yeah,” he says, relieved his teeth aren't chattering at least.

He washes his face, looking in the mirror as he rubs the back of his neck with a wet hand. The water is cool, comforting. His neck feels overheated.

He's still hard. He was glad the darkness hid his erection in the car. Bucky grips the sink as he stands over it, trying to breathe. He looks away from his reflection.

He knows what this is.

After missions, Rumlow and the others would be keyed up. They would laugh in the ride on the way to their safehouse, maybe even start the party. That could involve drinking.

If it was a van with room, that could involve using the asset 'recreationally.'

Either way by the time they got to the hotel room, the asset knew what kind of post mission 'party' it was going to be.

He used to feel relief when they were too tired, too somber, to furious with each other to notice him. Then again, when Rumlow was angry at the result of the mission that usually meant snapping, arguments – and angry subordinates meant they needed someone to take it out on.

He takes another deep breath and goes to put the seat on the toilet down. He sits there for a few minutes, trying to refocus himself. Dorothy always said he should...

Dorothy.

He should have talked to her before he left, maybe should have called her. He should have told her about everything. About Rollins... Maybe she could have...

Or maybe Rollins and Rumlow were listening in on his meetings with her and she would have been another innocent person caught up in his mess – another casualty.

He nearly jumps when Natasha gently raps her knuckles on the door.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“You hungry? I mean... the pizza is apparently still good despite that I used it for a weapon. I'm gonna snack. But if you want something else, we can order.”

They need to lie low so they'll have to stick with ordering rather than going out. Bucky nods then remembers she can't see.

“I can eat some of that or...whatever.”

“Yeah. It is pretty late,” she muses. “But I'm sure there's a Waffle House or something open.”

“Waffle House?” he raises an eyebrow as he looks up at the door.

“Can I come in?” she asks.

Bucky forces his shoulders down, taking another deep breath.

“Sure.”

She opens the door but doesn't come in, just leans in the doorway. She's still wearing her pizza girl costume and she actually looks criminally hot in it. Bucky looks down and tries not to think about what it would be like if she wanted some service.

There were a few women in HYDRA. They didn't usually take part in the 'activities' the STRIKE team enjoyed post missions but sometimes they used him, used his tongue or his mouth, even his dick if they were in the mood.

“What's wrong?” Her voice is gentle.

Bucky takes a deep breath.

“Nothing. Just... memories.”

She nods. “Well... let me know if you want a drink or anything. I'm probably gonna go pick up some smoothies. I don't think I can handle anymore donuts,” she makes a face, rubbing her stomach. Bucky smirks.

“Thanks.”

She nods and moves out of the doorway. Bucky feels relieved, grateful that she understands he needs space. His flesh hand is still trembling as he raises it. He raises the metal one to examine it, but finds it stable. He sets both hands on his legs after a while.

He can do this. He'll be fine. He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath.

After a while he comes out. Natasha goes for smoothies and he locks the door behind her.

He takes a few bites of pizza before running to the bathroom and throwing it up.

Ah... silly. He didn't used to be fed after missions. Sometimes they might throw him a pepperoni, but more often than not, it was a swig of beer or...

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then washes his face, rinses his mouth with tap water.

He sits on the end of the bed Natasha sat on earlier and turns the tv. on. He doesn't care so much to look at the intel right now. Doesn't really care what the Zaroni brothers were doing with Tubbs the tech.

He needs to know that... that the recording hasn't been leaked. That the media doesn't know. That they weren't recognized in Atlantic Beach.

For a moment, Bucky wonders if the cat is okay. What was it's name? Snickers?

He might actually like a cat someday. It was pleasant sleeping with one curled up to him. Her purr relaxed him.

There isn't much on but local news, it seems, has already gotten people in place for the morning news. He's stunned to realize it's already five thirty in the morning. How long did he spend sitting in the bathroom?

He looks down to realize he's been digging his fingernails into his knee.

Fuck.

He gently releases his knee and feels glad his nails are short. He pauses, looking at one of his fingernails and remembers Steve's encouraging smile when he saw the pink nail polish Rollins made him wear.

'It's okay if you like dressing that way.' 

Bucky huffs. He looks up at the news and turns the tv up as he sees the words “HYDRA CELL DISCOVERED IN NC BEACH COMMUNITY” scrolling across the bottom of the screen. 

“Yes, Rachel,” a man is saying into a microphone. “It seems that people here in Atlantic Beach – what is widely looked at as a vacation community – were stunned last night when police officers descended on a local vacation home. As you can see behind me, here's the house in question. Residents say they heard the sound of shots last evening.” The scene moves to show the house up closer. Bucky's stomach twists at the thought of the gun, at the thought of what could have happened to that kid.

When he looks up, he hears footsteps outside. He peeks through the tiny hole in the door.

Natasha lets him unlock the door, maybe realizing it will make him feel more secure.

 

“Got some more snacks," she tells him. "Also got you some nail polish remover." It turns out she got more than smoothies. Bucky is relieved to see some beef jerky and bags of sandwich meat and cheese along with a loaf of bread. There's also other kinds of snacks like trail mix – anything she thinks he might be able to digest better than pizza.

“Pizza go down okay?” she notes the bites he took out of one slice. He shakes his head, picking up the bottle of nail polish remover and examining it. Weird, pink bottle. He shrugs and goes to take off the nail polish. Natasha tosses a bag of cotton swabs to him as he sits down on the toilet lid.

He scrubs at his nails for a little while, relieved to see the pink disappearing. How he never noticed his fingernails is beyond him. They were already chipped about a week before, but he'd never really done anything about removing the polish. He must have been blind to it, even while zoning out on those Ashley Pulitzer books. For a moment, he laments the loss of the book he was reading. It was actually pretty good.

“Romanova,” he says.

“Mm-hmm?” She sticks her head in the door. She's holding a bag of Combos and her cheek is puffed out as she crunches on one.

“Thank you,” he tells her, tossing the rest of the stained cotton puffs in the trash and then tightening the cap on the bottle.

“Welcome,” she says, heading away from the bathroom, toward the table where the snacks are laid out. He washes his hands and joins her, taking one of the smoothie bottles and a pack of jerky.

He feels better after drinking some of the smoothie and snacking on the meat. Natasha's phone buzzes and she picks it up.

“Yello?”

She listens for a few moments, not looking at Bucky. She moves to sit down and munch on another slice of pizza.

“Ah hah...” she says. “I understand that.”

There's more talking. She sighs.

“I understand he's upset.”

Bucky perks up.

“I understand you're upset. Even though this doesn't really concern you.”

Someone on the other end of the line raises their voice. Natasha hangs up and sets the phone down, taking a sip of a drink. The phone buzzes again a few moments later. Bucky gives her a questioning look and she rolls her eyes.

“Tony,” she says before picking up the phone again. This time the voice is quieter. “Yeah, I get that,” she adds to the person on the other end of the line. Does she mean Stark? That's the only 'Tony' Bucky knows of. What does Stark want?

“No shit. We're heading up that way, actually.” She listens a while longer, nodding and adding a few more “Mm-hmms” and an “Okay.”

“All right,” she says. “I think it's a good idea too. Do me a favor, by the way? Calm down.” She hangs up and looks at Bucky.

“So, Stark wants us to come up to New York. He said you can stay in his tower.”

Bucky frowns a little, then nods. He supposes he doesn't really have the right to-

“Of course, you don't _have_ to do that if you don't want to. I do have other safe houses.”

He shakes his head.

“Stark Tower is probably the safest place for me,” he says. As it is he's starting to feel unsettled by hotel room after hotel room. The beach house was a nice reprieve, but Bucky doesn't really want t obe far away from Steve. Natasha nods.

“I will note that you did really well on this mission. You were calm.”

He nods. “I was out of it though.” Then he clears his throat. “I need to speak to my therapist, Dorothy.”

Her eyebrows rise.

“Oh. Sure,” she says. “Do you want to call her...?”

He thinks about it. “Maybe when we get back to New York.”

Natasha nods. “Not a bad idea. Is she in that area?”

Bucky nods. “She's close to Brooklyn actually.”

“Good. We can get you in touch with her when we get you back.”

Bucky nods again, grateful.

“Thanks. For all of this.”

Natasha smiles a little. “I figured you deserved some time away from everything.”

A soft laugh escapes him. “You were right. Most people wouldn't think a mission is... therapeutic, but this one was.”

Natasha winks. “Well you know me.”

 

* * *

 

With the curtains in the hotel room drawn closed, they sleep for a few hours, but Bucky wakes shouting at one point, begging. He doesn't remember what he dreamed about, though Natasha sits up with him for a little while.

She's wearing a t shirt, sleeping in the bed next to his. Bucky decided to sleep in his tee shirt and boxers. When she suggests taking a shower, he gratefully agrees. It turns out she packed enough of Clint's old clothes that there's another fresh shirt and shorts for him.

He feels weird in a short sleeve shirt so he pulls the hoodie on again, the same one from the house in Atlantic Beach. He feels better with his arm covered as he pulls a comb through his wet hair – apparently also Barton's old comb from the hairs in it. He wants to ask when Barton stayed at her beach house last and what kind of missions they had. Were they SHIELD missions? He wants to ask if...

Well that last one is really none of his business. But he is curious about her relationship with the man. They seem really close, almost too close to be merely 'friends.'

He wants to lie next to her, to curl up beside her and kiss her. He wants to know what it would feel like.

Bucky realizes, trying to go back to sleep, lying in the darkened room with the shades closed, that maybe he's just lonely. Maybe he just wants someone else's lips on his so that he can forget what it was like to have Rollins's lips on his again.

He closes his eyes tightly, tries to think of Steve's lips. But no. He doesn't have the right to even think of that.

Bucky wonders if it would be possible to go back in time, where exactly he started to go wrong, how far back he would have to go to fix himself, to make sure he never hurts Steve like that again. He finds himself thinking of Steve before the war, smaller and thinner with the little smile he used to give Bucky. Those long lashes over his cheeks. The way Steve would just lean into him, so trusting, when he tossed an arm around his skinny shoulders. 

Bucky wants to groan in frustration when he wakes up with a hard-on pressing into the bed. He can't stop picturing it though, what it might have been like to kiss Steve when they were younger, to cup that lean little jaw with both of his human hands and...

He swallows against the tightness in his throat.

'You blew it,' he thinks. 'You'll never get that chance now.'

That afternoon, Natasha suggests they move on again and Bucky's glad for that. They gather up everything, pack the leftover food in bags, throw away the rest of the pizza. They get into Natasha's car and begin to head back north.

 


End file.
